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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980609">A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jld_az/pseuds/jld_az'>jld_az</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>And We Are Merely Players (Book One) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bisexual Male Character, Blink-And-You'll-Miss-It Porn, Blood and Injury, Canon Parallel w/ Copious Artistic License, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:54:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>43,400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jld_az/pseuds/jld_az</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Corwin's account was only <i>one</i> version of events.</p><p>Here is another.</p><p>Title from 'A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall' by Bob Dylan</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>And We Are Merely Players (Book One) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is Tristan's POV of the prelude to Patternfall, running parallel to Aunna beginning with ch3 of '<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570866/chapters/56551591">Just Another Future Song</a>' thru ch1 of '<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731828/chapters/68748438">Liberty She Pirouette</a>'.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Summer in Malwain’s Buckden Peninsula meant endless grasslands rippling in humid air; a bone-deep damp that simmered the blood and clung to every surface, exposed or not; and bugs not <em> quite </em> the size of one’s hand, but pretty goddamned close.</p><p>Tristan regarded the trump in his left with slow-building frustration. Pulled up a hunk of turf with his right, and tossed it back over his shoulder toward the little black mare grazing nearby. He absently swatted at a dragonfly that settled on his ear. He shuffled his seat in the grass, traded the card from left to right, crossed and then uncrossed his ankles.</p><p>“C’mon,” he grumbled through gritted teeth. “<em>Pick</em> <em>up</em> already.”</p><p>And it had started out as such a lovely furlough, too. He’d left base camp the previous afternoon fully intent on laying over in Bull’s Bay; had succeeded in getting devilishly drunk by dusk, and properly pegged before breakfast. But on his way to Willow Trace this morning he’d been assaulted by trump calls — one queueing up after another to the point that he’d actually been forced to <em> dismount</em>, and <em> process</em>, and now-</p><p>Contact was finally established. He wasted no preamble beyond,</p><p>“I’m going to say something you won’t want to hear.”</p><p>Aunna’s face twisted in a wry smirk.</p><p>“‘Hey, sis’,” she responded into her coffee cup, in a passable affectation of his usual tone. “‘Been a while. How’re you-’”</p><p>They didn’t have time for banter, either. Tristan cut across her with-</p><p>“Corwin’s alive.”</p><p>-and watched the illusion of her abruptly settle back against a countertop, eyes widening.</p><p>“Holy shit.” She set her mug aside, and gave him her full attention. “How? Where?”</p><p>“Details are still incoming,” Tristan admitted. “But so far, I’ve gathered that he was spotted heading into Rebma with Random and Deirdre this morning, and this afternoon he tried to assassinate Eric.”</p><p>Her expression would have been comical, under different circumstances.</p><p>“What the fuck,” she stated.</p><p>“Tell me about it.” He bent a knee toward his chest and propped his elbow on it, letting her card dangle out of sight now that the connection was complete. He massaged his forehead with the fingers of his free hand. “It’s been a fucking Day.”</p><p>“Are they preparing to execute him?” Her tone was concerned; her expression plaintive. “Is that what I won’t want to hear?”</p><p>“Worse, I think,” Tristan replied. “He’s in the wind. Eric is locking down the GC.”</p><p>Her face immediately soured. “Oh.”</p><p>“Yeah.” He smiled ruefully back. “Sorry.”</p><p>Aunna sighed, tried and failed to run her fingers through her (very tangled, currently tangerine) hair, and looked around the room she was in. Her nails tapped a high-tone staccato across the granite countertop in thought, the motion making the rainbow-and-prism image on her oversized tee ripple. Finally she set her gaze on him again and asked,</p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>“Buckden.” He turned up his right wrist, consulting his watch. “Think you can reach the Crixa by sundown?”</p><p>She shook her head, pushing away from the counter. “No chance. But I could probably make Willow Trace for dinner.”</p><p>Tristan huffed a laugh. Of course she could.</p><p>“I’ll let Aunt Lily know,” he said. “Happy Hellride.”</p><p>Aunna gave him a distracted nod, already on the move. He let her go by tossing her card onto the grass, and flopped back next to it with a heavy breath. Rubbed the heels of his palms so firmly into his closed eyes, he saw spots.</p><p>Because <em> fuck</em>.</p><p>
  <em> Corwin. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Alive. </em>
</p><p>That was .. explosive.</p><p>He let his arms fall, outstretched, and stared at the cerulean sky; practically watched the humidity condense into great puffy clouds. Around him, the susuration of insects rose and fell with the cloying breeze. His horse blew a rattling breath through her nose, tail lashing against her flanks and head swinging irritably toward her shoulder. She stomped one forefoot, shook her neck, and settled to graze again.</p><p>If they were lucky, this whole sequence of events was a fluke and meant nothing - Corwin had made an appearance, replaced an indispensable resource, and exfil’d to Shadow. <em> Fin</em>.</p><p>Even as he thought it though, he felt his lips twist wryly. That was junior cadet thinking; not a Lieutenant Colonel, not a Rowan Vert.</p><p>Not a Duke of Kolvir.</p><p>Fuck, this was gonna get ugly.</p><p>But not, it seemed, before he’d finished his weekend. Because his father hadn’t ordered him to immediately return to base camp; hadn’t told him to gather his trainees, and transport them to Arden. And since it seemed the queue in his head had finally been cleared…</p><p>Tristan sat up with a low huff of exertion, and retrieved his sister’s card, slipping it back into his deck. He picked up his cap and dusted it off; donned it as he clocked the area, calling out in his full field voice:</p><p>“Cooooop!”</p><p>When the tawny head of a dog popped up from the prairie several yards away, he got to his feet and hailed, “S’go!”</p><p>It let out a sharp ‘yip’, and began skirting its way around tussocks and tangles toward him. Tristan made a small gesture and clicked his tongue at the mare, who lifted her head and shook it with a heavy sigh before closing the distance between them. He gave her neck a scratch, and retrieved the bridle from where he’d hung it over the pommel; slipped it on and secured it, tightening the girth as the nubby-tailed cattle dog made his final approach. He ruffled the dog’s pricked ears affectionately with a muttered ‘good boy’ before mounting up. He aimed northeast, and resumed his trip at a steady jog.</p><hr/><p>Willow Trace was dormant when he arrived, its half-worked fields wilting in the afternoon sun. The heat was oppressive, so the workers were taking respite in the bunkhouse; they’d be back out at dusk though, threshing barley and rye for the family’s distillery, much happier and more productive for the reprieve. Until then their painted cobs lounged loose in the nearby pasture, grazing or dozing in the shade, harnesses draped over the fence to either side of the gate. It was a peaceful, timeless image that made Tristan smile with ease; dropped his shoulders from their hiked-up position, and loosened his spine into a posture less rigid. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Repeated, to a steady count of five. Felt the rest of his muscles begin to relent with the oscillation.</p><p>He loved his job. Deeply. Strategy challenged him to think bigger, broader; command frequently amused the shit out of him. His profession gave him pride and purpose, humanity and humility, and he’d probably still be at it a century from now, conditions willing. But there was something about being <em> Home </em> that always tugged hard at his roots; kept him close while others, like his sister, were constantly leaving. And for him, this place - their mother’s family seat - was A Home.</p><p>Tristan bypassed the main residence and took his mare directly to the stable; removed her tack and gave her a cursory rubdown while the dog kept watch from the stall’s threshold. He tossed her some hay, freshened her water basin, and gave her ear a playful tug when she mashed her forehead into his chest, shoving him toward the back door.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled, rolling it open so she could pass by into the run beyond. He gave her rump a clap as they went their separate ways; slid the inner door shut behind him, and secured the bolt. He kissed his fingertips, and touched them to the nameplate above the door - VEGABOUND - in a superstitious compulsion from childhood.</p><p>Then he looked down at the dog, who returned his gaze earnestly.</p><p>“What say you, Cooper?” he asked. The tawny-coated heeler popped up to his feet, tensed to act, tail wiggling. Tristan stooped to scrub between the pointed ears.</p><p>“Alright, then,” he said, heading for the house. “C’mon.”</p><p>Nolan met him at the landing, the Head Butler’s summer whites crisp and pristine as always, his hands outstretched to invite Tristan’s cap and jacket. He regretted to say that Their Lord and Ladyship were attending an event at the Embassy and not due to return until the following evening, but naturally the Staff were at his service; his suites were being freshened as they spoke.</p><p>“My sister is on her way,” Tristan advised as Cooper was escorted off by the groomer. He removed his tie and passed it over as well; released the top few buttons on his shirt as he entered the front hall. “She’ll be here around dinner.”</p><p>The older gentleman gave a small nod in acknowledgment. “Rhone will appreciate the notice, Sir.” He then gestured up the stairs, adding, “I will see that her rooms are also prepared.”</p><p>“Thank you, Nolan.” Tristan ascended as directed, and turned to the east wing.</p><p>The doors to his suite stood open, the cross-breeze thick but pleasant as it billowed the curtains. He strode directly to the bathroom, un-cuffing and rolling his sleeves, untucking his shirt as he went. He dampened a cloth with tepid tap water and pressed it to the back of his neck, ran it over his face, pushed it through his hair. He wrung out the road dirt, repeated the process, and then draped the cloth over the edge of the basin. He was just settling down on the rim of the tub to remove his boots when he felt it — a tentative contact, twice, with a pause after each, then a prolonged attempt.</p><p>Tristan straightened and accepted. Wherever Leo was, it was dark. His illusion flickered as though by firelight.</p><p>“Is it true?” he asked.</p><p>Elaboration wasn’t necessary. Only a rumour <em> this crazy </em> could get Major Westwood to risk OpSec, and who else would he trust to confirm it?</p><p>“Yes,” Tristan replied.</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>“<em>Yes,</em>” Tristan repeated.</p><p>“What’s our protocol?”</p><p>Tristan shrugged. “No change so far.”</p><p>The other man’s brows rose in surprise. “They haven’t recalled you?”</p><p>Tristan shook his head. “Not yet.”</p><p>Leo’s face went thoughtful, then he mimicked Tristan’s shrug and settled against something solid. Rock, maybe. A cave?</p><p>“Is she coming in?” Again, no additional details were needed. Their shorthand had been perfected over decades.</p><p>“Last I knew. Watch your six,” he advised, suddenly the CO. Leo sat upright, and the surface behind him disappeared. “Fifteen seconds. How’s Assessment?”</p><p>“There’s a few Twigs left that might still make the cut,” his second-in-command replied. Then added with a touch of dark humor, “Assuming you don’t break them next week, that is.”</p><p>Tristan smirked. “No promises.” He glanced at his watch as he unclasped the band; gave it a small nod, and then offered Leo the same. “I'll keep you looped in. Good hunting, Leo.”</p><p>The man jutted his chin in acknowledgment, and ended the call.</p><p>Twenty-three seconds. OpSec maintained.</p><p>Tristan stripped down, deposited the rest of his uniform in the chute, and turned on the shower.</p><hr/><p>The last time they’d been in the same place, he was a newly-chevroned Vert, and she was an embittered Cav retiree itching to cut loose.</p><p>
  <em> “I can't do this anymore,” she said, stuffing a few items into an olive green rucksack. “If anyone asks, tell them I’ve gone to Deig’a.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Deig’a?” He was skeptical, but willing to humour her if doing so meant she’d keep in touch. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m working through my Ghenesh shit,” she tossed out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tristan’s skepticism tipped to incredulity. “Really?” </em>
</p><p><em> “Yes, </em> <em> really</em><em>,” she bit back. “It’s a nice place, Tristan. I refuse to let one bad experience ruin it for me.” </em></p><p><em> The two stared at each-other. And she was lying. </em> <span class="u"> <em> Absolutely</em></span><em>lying. He smiled. </em></p><p>
  <em> “Ok, but where are you actually going?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “A Shadow called Earth,” she ceded with a grin. “It’s fun. You should come with me sometime…” </em>
</p><p>Tristan was waiting on the front steps when she arrived, in the casual sprawl of someone with few immediate concerns. She’d know it was an affectation, of course, but it was more pleasant than greeting her with a bombardment of hearsay.</p><p>Aunna’s silhouette in the gloaming struck a surreal figure as it trotted up the long, willow-lined drive. Regardless of where she’d <em> actually </em> been, she was dressed now to reflect where she was <em> meant </em> to have been, and Deig’a was still decidedly foreign to Malwain: robes and turbans versus habits and fascinators. Sagr’s naturally brassy coat gleamed damply when it caught the light, his neck arched and teeth chomping even while moving loose on the buckle — a picture of perfectly contained hair-trigger fury that Tristan had always found impressive. And a little terrifying. He wouldn’t lie.</p><p>“Hey, sis,” he hailed. At the sound of her approach, the dog that had been dozing beside him scrambled off the stoop, and launched forward to greet her. She made a sharp whistle and a gesture; he skidded to a sit, nubby tail flicking in the grass. </p><p>“You’re on furlough?” she asked as she reined to a halt, taking in his loose slacks and bare feet, his charcoal-on-black ‘(if you see me, it’s too late)’ tee, the open bottle of Hammerhead within easy reach of his right hand.</p><p>“Through the weekend.” Tristan casually hooked a finger around the neck of said beer, and lifted it for a sip. “Unless someone higher up the chain tells me otherwise.” </p><p>She dismounted and removed Sagr’s bridle; hung it from the pommel and took hold of the bosal rope instead. The gelding visibly relaxed into the equine version of parade rest.</p><p>“How’s Deig’a?” Tristan ventured. She shot him a conspiratorial look.</p><p>“Cold and sandy.” Her attention swung to the dog. “Cooper,” she intoned.</p><p>The cattle dog trembled in barely-restrained ecstasy. After a moment her face split into a smile and she stepped forward, stooping to invite his charge and wrap him up in a rough rubdown. Cooper immediately went belly up and wiggly in her arms, whining joyfully.</p><p>“Furloughed, yet you waited here for me.” Aunna grinned up one-eyed from the canine’s attacking tongue, finally shoving him away and rising, rubbing her sleeves across her cheeks. “I’m flattered.”</p><p>Tristan glanced at his watch and shrugged. “Night’s still young.” He made a small whistle at the dog, who spun around to acknowledge him. “And honestly, I could use the company.”</p><p>She gave him a rueful smile. “Where’s your husband?”</p><p>“Running Assessments.” At a small snap and point, Cooper trotted back up to the landing and lay down, chin resting on front paws dangling over the top step.</p><p>Rueful became suggestive. "Any Trunks among those new Twigs?"</p><p>He flipped her a rude gesture. She laughed, unbuckling her rucksack and shrugging it to the ground.</p><p>“Front ten’s open, if you want to turn him loose,” Tristan offered, nodding to Sagr. “I checked when I got here. Vega’s in her run to keep him company.”</p><p>His sister looked in that direction, pulling her turban off with a small nod. “Thanks.”</p><p>He belted a laugh, tilting his bottle at her head. “What, did you stop at the salon first?”</p><p>Aunna glanced his way, then crossed her eyes at a lock of sun-russetted brunette dangling across her nose. She huffed, and brushed it away.</p><p>“Hair colour is easy,” she retorted, then nodded past him toward the house. “Are they waiting for me?”</p><p>Tristan shook his head. “Lily and Charles are in CdV ‘til tomorrow. Kitchen’s still staffed though. They’re expecting you.”</p><p>Her head moved in a slow nod. He finished his beer, and got to his feet.</p><p>“I’ll let you get settled in,” he said, climbing the few remaining steps, then turning to walk backwards toward the door. Cooper popped up to follow him. “I’m thinking Butoi-Botal? Leave around eight?”</p><p>Aunna gave Sagr’s rope a small shake at that, and the gelding stood to attention.</p><p>“Sounds good,” she replied, and led the horse toward the aforementioned field.</p><hr/><p>Butoi-Botal was five minutes by carriage, in the nearby village of Lo Áilt. They passed the ride in companionable silence, watching the farmland slide by in a rapidly cooling dusk. The lounge was busy but uncrowded when they arrived. They were shown to a private table on an upper patio, with a view of the City Common and the bandstand; presented with a cocktail list, and advised that their server would be by shortly.</p><p>Tristan slanted his chair away from the railing, put his back to the corner, and crossed his ankles on the lower rail. He straightened his light linen slacks on impulse, tugging the crease into line down his shin; then brushed a stray puff of chaff off his shirt, loosened its collar a couple buttons, and folded the cuffs up to just below his elbows before settling back, linking his fingers over his abdomen. Across the table, Aunna performed a similar adjustment to her chair’s orientation as she perused the one-sheet drink list, but folded a leg beneath her instead, and hooked her opposite knee over, sandal dangling by the toe strap. It was a position that managed to look both careless and purposeful. She settled into it with ease.</p><p>It struck him then how relaxed she seemed, considering the circumstances which had brought her home. She’d changed into a sleeveless jumpsuit, light cotton fabric with a wide collar and hip-slung belt, in varying vertical stripes of coppery green. Hair pinned up in lazy rolls, face slack in thought, the bridge of her nose freckled from time in the sun…</p><p>Contentment looked good on her, if that’s what this was.</p><p>Buoyed, he asked, “How’s Shadow?”</p><p>Aunna shifted her attention away from the menu, and slanted him an impish smile / shrug combo.</p><p>“I’m enjoying myself,” she offered. “You really <em> should </em> swing by sometime. LA would eat you alive.”</p><p>He laughed. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement, sis.”</p><p>“Rio, Sydney, London,” she continued to list in rapid succession, as though he had not spoken, her eyes resuming their slide down the menu, “<em>definitely </em> Amsterdam. Shit, I’d even do NYC if it got you to cut loose for a bit. And that’s just on Earth." She passed the menu over; set it on the table when he declined by lifting two fingers and giving a small head shake. "Seriously, you know there’s more to the universe than the GC, right? Shadow really <em> is </em> infinite. There’s bound to be beefcake <em> anywhere</em>.”</p><p>It was a well-worn jibe, this thing about what all could be found Out There; she grinned cheekily as she made it.</p><p>“You know I just had a girlfriend, right?” Tristan meant it lightheartedly, as a counter-jab, but splitting up with Genette was still a bit fresh. She’d been a good fit .. right up until she wasn’t. He was gonna feel that one a little while.</p><p>But then-</p><p>“Tell me you weren’t face-down for G.I. Brawn last night, and I’ll leave off the whole topic.”</p><p>Tristan’s jaw snapped shut. He pursed his lips, fixing her with a level stare. She returned it cooly, unruffled. Then she smiled, and looked out over the common. Sometimes it was infuriating, how well she knew his proclivities.</p><p>After a minute, he ventured, “What about you?”</p><p>“What about me?” she clipped.</p><p>“Anyone special?”</p><p>She made an unusual face — something between wistful and confused. Repeated ‘special’ with such bemusement as to be almost profound. It was a very, <em> very </em> interesting response.</p><p>But then movement in the doorway caught their attention, and their server appeared to take their order. He asked for a Slim Ricky; Aunna smirked, and ordered a Buckden Burro. Below, the bandstand sprouted a three-piece group - guitar, banjo, hand organ - which struck up a lively tune.</p><p>“So?” Tristan prompted when the girl ('Cassidy' per the calling card she’d left behind) had gone. His sister shook her head with a chuckle.</p><p>“Just having fun, T.”</p><p>Whatever he’d started to crack open had closed off again, and he sensed it wasn’t the time to pry. Other shit was going on, after all, and any moment she would be asking abou-</p><p>“So what do we know?”</p><p>Aunna was staring at him, elbow on the chair back and head propped against her fist. At least <em> his </em> instincts about <em> her </em> were still equal to the task. He resumed his lounging position.</p><p>“At around oh-six-forty, Cabra Standard Time, reports came in that three people - later identified as Corwin, Random, and Deirdre - had been witnessed descending the stairs at Faiella-Bionin into Rebma," he replied. "Rebman Guard later confirmed that the trio surrendered immediately into their custody, and requested an audience with the Queen.”</p><p>And here Tristan would be eternally baffled. Because if Random <em> knew </em> Moire had it out for him, then <em> why the everloving fuck </em> had he <em> gone down there? </em></p><p>“Curious sidebar,” he interjected: “Random was immediately placed under arrest for ‘Crimes Against the Crown’, and sentenced to marry one of the Court Ladies as recompense.”</p><p>Aunna’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, what?”</p><p>“Apparently the muck years back about him and Morganthe was true,” Tristan shrugged. “They have - had? - a kid. Somewhere. Maybe. I don’t know the de-”</p><p>“She’s <em> marrying him off</em>?” Aunna cut in. “As <em> punishment</em>?”</p><p>Tristan nodded. “That’s certainly what it sounds like.”</p><p>“Wow.” Her expression was deeply conflicted, and he could practically see her trying to decide how she felt about that. But then she shook her head, and made a slow rolling gesture with her free hand. “So Moire arrested Random. What happened to Corwin and Dee?”</p><p>“Deirdre made a plea for Corwin to be allowed to walk the Pattern, because apparently - and this is going to sound insane, so bear with me - he had amnesia from being in a coma-”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“-someplace called ‘Upstate New York’-”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?”</p><p>“-where Florimel has been footing the bill for his care-”</p><p>“<em>WHAT? </em>”</p><p>“-since ‘1963’.”</p><p>His sister made a choking sound, then: apoplectic with shock. When the server chose that moment to arrive with their drinks, Aunna received and downed half of hers in one go, immediately tapping the side of the glass with a finger to indicate for another. Tristan smiled wryly at the girl, accepted his with a small thanks, and sipped while his sister came to terms with this news.</p><p>“So you didn’t know.” It was an obvious observation, but he really only said it to prompt a reaction.</p><p>Aunna gave him a bewildered expression in return. “How wou-”</p><p>Then she sighed, lifted one finger, and gestured southwest.</p><p>“If you were in the Buckden,” she said, voice flat in the way it got when she was Big Sister-ing him, “and I was in Eminence Bay,” she made a slow arch to somewhere vaguely north-northeast, “but I never reached out to tell you I was there - if we were just <em>existing</em> in the same Shadow, and you weren’t <em>actively</em> <em>looking</em> for me, or someone <em>like</em> me - would <em>you</em> know?”</p><p>Tristan considered that as frankly as it’d been presented, then shook his head.</p><p>“No,” he conceded the point. “I probably wouldn’t.”</p><p>Aunna made a <em> There you have it </em> gesture. “And that’s assuming we were even in the same Shadow of Earth. Tell me: Did anyone mention ‘disco’?”</p><p>He laughed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have assumed.”</p><p>“Honestly, Tristan. I think you’re doing yourself an extreme disservice by restricting your experience of Shadow to the Golden Circle.”</p><p>“Maybe.” Tristan tipped his head against the wall. “This might be a bad time to be figuring that out, though.”</p><p>“Yeah, about this ‘lockdown’.” Her hand dropped to her hip; reaching reflexively for something that was unexpectedly not there, based on her expression. So instead she unfolded from her awkward perch, and rested her forearms on the filigreed iron tabletop. “I have two questions. First,” she lifted a thumb, “How did he get so close to Eric without being detected? and second,” her index finger shot out, “How many of the Kingsguard got slipped, after?”</p><p>Tristan turned his drink on its spot, watching the pale golden liquid fizz and catch the light before picking it up. “Apparently they ran into each-other while Corwin was raiding the library for trumps.” He took a sip, then continued, “Given we now know he’d just walked Rebma’s Pattern, that’s most likely how he got in, so the Kingsguard should be deemed faultless.”</p><p>Aunna muttered something crude under her breath just as the server returned with her additional drink, and set it on the table along with a slim wooden humidor.</p><p>“Compliments of Messrs Polk and Dunbar,” the girl said, smiling genially, eyes flicking to him before settling on his sister. “Please enjoy.”</p><p>Aunna sat up with a wry tilt to her features, and returned the girl’s look. “Thank you, Cassidy,” she replied, picking it up and flipping it open. Her finger ran across the row of brown-papered rolls before selecting one to extract. “And please, pass them my gratitude with a bottle of the Reserve. Pin Oak vintage, if you have it.” She clapped the case shut one-handed, and put the cigarette between her lips.</p><p>“Of course.” Cassidy produced a flint from her apron pocket and set it down, took up Aunna’s empty glass, and dropped a glance to Tristan’s now near-empty one. Her brows rose in silent query.</p><p>“Please,” he nodded. Her hazel eyes crinkled when she smiled, lips parting on perfect white teeth. She departed.</p><p>He heard Aunna strike up the flint; looked at her as she exhaled. She’d settled back in her seat and propped her sandaled feet on the upper railing, her face a mask of sublime disinterest as she curled an elbow behind her head, tilted against the wall, and focused on the band down below. After Cassidy had delivered his drink and departed again, she said,</p><p>“He escaped, though.”</p><p>Tristan nodded. “We don’t know who he contacted, because he took a whole deck with him, but his spontaneous resurrection calls into question who <em> else </em> might still be kicking around Shadow, and who's <em> also </em> willing to throw in with him.” He caught her slight blanch, and gave a subtle nod in return. “Nobody’s seen Benedict for a while, you know. Or Brand. Or Bleys. Or Oberon. Sure Ben abdicated ages ago, and the others are prone to extended sabbaticals, but since Eric's been running things unopposed for forty-odd years, you can understand why Corwin's sudden come-and-go act might get his dander up.”</p><p>“Thank you for keeping me off of that list,” she said.</p><p>“I won’t lie,” Tristan confessed, “I vouched hard for you to buy time today.”</p><p>“Then thank you for that, too,” she added, with a salute.</p><p>They drank. Down on the common, the trio slid into a ballad. The small gathering of people was growing; some paired off to dance.</p><p>“He can really lock it down?”</p><p>Her voice was pitched low, but Tristan still caught a tinge of sadness in it.</p><p>“He’s King in all but title, sis,” he confirmed. “Been wearing the Jewel since Yuletide. Smart money is on a coronation by Harvest Moon.”</p><p>She pulled a weary expression, and drew hard on her cigarette; blew out rough as she reached for her drink.</p><p>“Fucking <em> Corwin</em>,” she mumbled. Tristan hummed an agreement. She snorted. “Should’ve known, though. Crazy bastard. Do you remember when…”</p><p>And honestly, Tristan <em>didn’t</em> remember, except perhaps in the hazy recollection of the very young - a gesture, a laugh, a presence more than a person - but he’d been barely four at the time of their uncle’s departure, so…</p><p>Aunna, on the other hand, had been nearly nine, and <em> she </em> apparently remembered him in all the colours of an impressionable child: A larger-than-life figure that would swoop in from Shadows unknown with highly inappropriate gifts (clearly chosen to raise their father’s ire), then get drunk on Bayle’s Best and tell the most absurdly morbid tales one could ever hope to hear…</p><p>“…but Miri and I found him endlessly entertaining,” she said, chuckling with the memory. “Fuck, he was <em> dark</em>. I can’t <em> wait </em> to hear him explain this nonsense.”</p><p>“Well, here’s hoping today was all some great misunderstanding, and we can all laugh about it over dinner come Monday,” Tristan offered, lifting his glass.</p><p>She followed the motion with hers. They drank.</p><hr/><p>Hours passed in general reminiscing, and the trio in the bandshell turned out to be pretty good, gathering a small crowd of onlookers as the evening wore into night. Several times he caught Aunna tapping along with the beat, expression beatific, momentarily somewhere else. It was nice to see. He couldn’t remember the last time he had.</p><p>“I can feel you staring a hole in my face,” she said after a while, and slanted a look in his direction. “What?”</p><p>“You really <em> like it </em>out there,” he observed.</p><p>Aunna unfolded her arms; rubbed her palms against her shins and looked introspective.</p><p>“It’s liberating, the ability to just exist someplace else for a while, beholden to no one,” she finally offered. “For me, anyway. Anarchy has been cathartic, and humanity is .. interesting.”</p><p>Bingo. “So there <em> is </em> someone,” he posited, sure of it now. <em> Humanity is interesting</em>, indeed.</p><p>But-</p><p>“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same,” she replied, a bit more tartly than he’d anticipated. It stepped him back a bit, mentally.</p><p>“Sorry,” he offered, heartfelt. She waved it off.</p><p>“I’ll figure it out, T.”</p><p>Cassidy, who had been silently coming and going throughout the evening, made a small sound from the doorway. They both looked at her.</p><p>“Will there be anything else, Sir, Dahm?” she asked.</p><p>Tristan glanced at his watch. Cringed. Was turning toward the girl in apology when she stepped forward and set the cheque down by his elbow, ready for his signature. Aunna’s heels dropped to the floor and she stood, excusing herself. When he gave her a plaintive look, she shot him a chirlish grin.</p><p>“Oh, come off it. I’m going to the facilities.” Aunna shoved playfully at the side of his head on her way by. “Sign the check, you sap. I’ll have them pull the carriage ‘round.” She gave Cassidy a friendly smile on the way by, and the girl returned it before shifting her attention to Tristan.</p><p>When he reached for a non-existent sleeve pocket for an equally non-existent pen, she produced one from the recesses of her apron and set it down discreetly; proceeded to collect the remaining empty glasses. As he scrawled where indicated and tallied in a generous gratuity, he heard her singing under her breath with the band, who were winding up their impromptu concert with a traditional closing-time ballad. He tilted her a smile, and stood.</p><p>“Thank you, Cassidy,” he said, setting the pen down on the slip. She returned his expression as he wished her a good night.</p><p>“Did you get her number?” Aunna asked when she met him at the exit.</p><p>“Did I what?”</p><p>She laughed. “Never mind.”</p><p>They met the carriage at the curb. Tristan pulled the door for her, and then boarded after. They settled side-by-side on the backward-facing bench, where he turned slightly askew, and assumed a relaxed slouch; his fingers laced across his stomach, and an ankle propped up on his knee. She turned sideways, folded one knee up between them, and began pulling pins from her hair.</p><p>“When are you going to present to Court?” he asked, once they were underway.</p><p>Aunna shrugged. “I figure I’ll check in tomorrow. Get a better lay of the land.” </p><p>She shook her head roughly, turned it upside-down and fluffed the roots with her fingers. When she flipped upright, it resembled a lion’s mane. Tristan felt his face constrict in a bitten-off laugh. Catching the expression, Aunna looked at her reflection in the carriage window, and made a disgusted sound; muttered something about ‘fucking humidity’ as she tied the mess into a knot at the base of her scalp.</p><p>“Not that I’m worried,” Tristan resumed, because it had been playing on his mind, “but have you considered coming clean about where you've been?”</p><p>Aunna dropped her hands into her lap with a sigh, and settled against the armrest behind her.</p><p>“I mean…” She smoothed a hand over her crown, looking first dismayed, then sly. “Technically speaking, I <em> did </em> go to Earth via the Ma’k Deig, so it’s not like I <em> lied </em> to anyone, exactly. I <em> was </em> in Deig’a. I just didn’t <em> stay </em> there.”</p><p>“I’d buy it,” Tristan intoned. “Except nobody could survive the Ma’k Deig alone, and anyone documenting the migration of the Tribes would figure out <em> that </em> pail is a sieve.”</p><p>She frowned, but in a contemplative way. Pulled the slim wooden case out of one cavernous hip pocket, and extracted a cigarette, lighting it with the keepsake flint. She took a long draw and returned the pack to its place, eyes on his face as she blew smoke to the side, where it mostly swept through the open window.</p><p>“Ok, I’ll bite,” she said. “What do <em>you</em> think I should do?”</p><p>“I think it’s worth being transparent,” he advised. “Might make asking to leave again easier, later.”</p><p>Her expression pinched in thought. “Go on.”</p><p>And he was heartened to have her interest in this. Because if he could help strategize a way to get her back out there? To someplace she was obviously thriving? He’d do it gladly.</p><p>“For starters? I know you didn't stay on Shadow Earth, either. And I can think of at least four times I contacted you in a combat environment.” He stated it factually. She didn’t deny it, so he went on. “I seem to recall ‘study’ being a very popular excuse for Bleys’s frequent absences. And Brand’s.”</p><p>After a long pause, with her eyes downcast and introspective, he saw the moment she was sold. She tilted him an impressed nod, then turned away and nodded again, smiling at some distant thought.</p><p>“You could be waiting a while for an audience,” he cautioned. “Depending on how keyed up Eric is though, you <em> could </em> be summoned on Monday. Who the fuck knows. But I’m sure Lily and Charles will be happy to have you. And Uncle Devon probably has some young stock he’d welcome your help with, if you get antsy.”</p><p>Aunna turned the smile on him; tempered it to something less wistful, more gracious. He felt his face crease to reflect it. After a moment, she nudged his thigh with her toe.</p><p>“When do you head back?” she asked.</p><p>“Early,” he replied, and let his reluctance show. “There’ll be reports to file before I resume training on Monday, thanks to this shit show.”</p><p>Aunna chuckled. “So has this actually been an interrogation?”</p><p>“Hardly,” Tristan replied in a like tone. “But if it had, do you think I’d tell you?”</p><p>“Probably not,” she confirmed, sobering slightly. “But if it were, I’d think you’d gotten better.”</p><p>He actually felt himself preen a bit. Not that he had, at any point, considered their evening together to be a fact-finding mission — but the idea that <em> she </em> had, and then thought he’d done a <em> good job </em> at it, offered him an odd insight. And could be very helpful to remember for future interrogation / negotiation situations.</p><p>“I might…” She trailed off a beat, then resumed. “I might drop by Avens Rest. Pick through some things. While I’m around.”</p><p>Tristan gave her his full attention; saw her distant expression and didn’t dare interrupt, or prod. But then she roused herself from that thought and continued,</p><p>“And I probably <em> should </em>stop by Deig’a. Pay respect to the Tribes, and thank them for their earlier escort.”</p><p>“I would not advise against either of those courses of action,” Tristan agreed as the carriage trundled to a halt. “Also, Leo asked about you, so I’m sure he’d be happy to meet for drinks next time he’s on leave. If you’re still here.”</p><p>Aunna scooped her hair pins into her pocket, and exited from her door. “I’ll keep that in mind.”</p><p>“See you for breakfast then?” Tristan asked as she rounded the back. He closed his door behind him, and the vehicle lurched off toward the stable.</p><p>“Don’t see why not,” she shrugged. Then paused at the foot of the steps, and added, “Rhone knows we’re <em>both</em> here, right?”</p><p>He laughed, passing toward the door. “She knows.”</p><p>“Then yes,” his sister said. “Because I’d hate for her to go through all the trouble, and then not follow through on her expectations.”</p><hr/><p>Aunna called the following weekend, while he was between lecture and recruitment duties at Murn OFC, to tell him that Eric had granted her request to resume her ‘studies’ in Shadow, but-</p><p>“-not until after the Coronation. So…”</p><p>Tristan stopped walking; brightened. “Did he give you a date?”</p><p>Leo halted a few strides away and turned back toward him. Tristan held up a forestalling finger.</p><p>“Two weeks from today,” she replied. “Official announcement is tomorrow. Thank you for your testimonial. Good luck with the office pool.”</p><p>And she was gone. Leo shot him a curious glance.</p><p>“Coronation,” Tristan supplied. “Two weeks out.”</p><p>Leo’s brows climbed. “Solid intel?”</p><p>“Straight from The Man, apparently.” He continued to lead their way off campus, Leo falling in as he passed.</p><p>“What’s our window?”</p><p>“Today.”</p><p>Leo considered this, then said, “We should hang a bell on it.” When Tristan cocked his head curiously, he added, “We should see how many people we can talk <em> out </em> of that day, by making a really big deal about how it’s <em> definitely </em> that day. Tell them so much truth, they’ll assume we’re lying.”</p><p>Curiosity became bemusement. “And we’d do this why, exactly?”</p><p>Leo snapped his fingers; pointed. “Because if <em> nobody </em> bets it, then the money goes to the Dub-N.O.”</p><p>Tristan pondered that a moment, then chuckled and shook his head. “You are a deviant genius, Westwood. Anyone ever told you that?”</p><p>“It’s for <em> charity</em>, T,” Leo waved dismissively, his gaze falling to the pavement passing underfoot, contemplative. “We’ll only be able to pull this off <em> once</em>, though,” he murmured. “Just need <em> one </em> well-placed rumor to get things rolling…”</p><p>In the end it was a combination of archived precedent, arbitrary historical events, and a (highly formulaic) horoscope that had people seeking them out; asking to switch their wager to something closer to All Souls instead, possibly Hunter's Moon. Yes, that sounded more likely anyhow…</p><p>The date, along with those either side of it, had been cleared by dinner.</p><p>They celebrated their coup with <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27756145">an evening out</a>, and quietly raised a glass for the Widows and Orphans Fund.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tristan removed his cap when he stepped through the door of Central Command, and tucked it under his left arm as Cooper darted smoothly around his leg; nodded genially at the captain attending the reception desk, who’d curled in his seat to amiably ruffle the dog’s ears.</p><p>“Avery,” he greeted, passing a hand over the back of his head to buff out the line the cap had pressed into his hair. “I’ve been summoned.”</p><p>“Tristan.” The redhead offered a smile, and thumbed over his shoulder as he sat up, “He’s expecting you.”</p><p>Tristan paused a moment at the edge of the desk, eyes on the closed door behind it. “Any hints?”</p><p>Avery turned in his chair to follow Tristan’s gaze, and shook his head. “No idea,” he replied. “The Admiral was by to see him earlier, though.”</p><p>Tristan looked at the captain, frowning thoughtfully. Avery returned his stare and shrugged. With a small sigh, Tristan turned again to the door, drummed his fingers against the desktop, then made a fist and held it toward his fellow Vert.</p><p>The other man knocked his knuckles against it. “See you on the other side,” he said.</p><p>Tristan chuckled in response and stepped forward, rapping thrice on the thick oak planks while his other hand flashed a staying gesture. Cooper settled onto his stomach beside the doorway and rested his chin on his paws as Tristan turned the handle and pushed, then immediately paused on the threshold.</p><p>The general was not alone. Seated across from him was a willowy, dark-haired woman with deep-set eyes, sharp cheekbones, and an aquiline profile. ‘Swarthy’ he supposed was the word; Murnese, or possibly Deigan. She was dressed in the garish red-on-red uniform of the Scarlet Acolytes, and wore an expression of supreme apathy when she turned over her shoulder to see who had joined them.</p><p>“You sent for me, Sir?” Tristan asked, prepared to step back out if ordered.</p><p>The woman’s eyes narrowed as she took him in, head to toe and back, before they rolled away in a manner that said she found him lacking. Tristan felt his face draw down in response, mildly annoyed by the dismissal, but then his father’s low timbre filled the room, and he snapped to.</p><p>“Have a seat, Colonel Rozenberg,” Julian said, and made a small motion from the other side of his desk toward the unoccupied chair.</p><p>Tristan closed the door and did as directed; settled into the wooden monstrosity with an ease that only came from years of practice, even going so far as to rest an ankle atop a knee after setting his cap beneath the seat. He focused his attention on his CO, and was content to pay the woman minimal attention until an introduction was made.</p><p>He never received one.</p><p>“In light of recent events, and with the full support of his military advisors, the Crown Regent has determined to implement a joint initiative between the Rowan Vert and the Scarlet Acolytes.”</p><p><em> Right into it, then, </em> Tristan thought, a little sourly. </p><p>“As the highest-ranking personnel of your respective units, you will be responsible for assembling this new squad, and facilitating their integration before the next training rotation begins.”</p><p>From the corner of his eye Tristan saw the woman stiffen, as though gearing up to protest. Truth be told, he was right there with her.</p><p>“Sir,” he ventured when she didn’t. “Rotation starts in three days, and the core of my unit is on furlough through midday tomorrow.”</p><p>“I am aware, Colonel,” the general replied. “As is FA Shard’s. I suggest you take the time until then to review your top assets and plan a training strategy. The formation quota is ten-and-ten, including yourselves.”</p><p>Sensing a pending dismissal, Tristan looked at the woman - FA Shard? - and felt an eyebrow curl up when she pointedly ignored him for several beats, her attention fixed on Julian. Finally, she pursed her lips and granted him a sideways glance.</p><p>“That is acceptable,” she said. Her voice was as dark as her skin, and thick with disdain. Tristan felt himself bristle internally.</p><p>“Barrack Forty-Four has been re-opened to accommodate.” The general’s attention was only partly on them now; he was scribbling onto a sheet of parchment as he spoke. “The ancillary structure should suffice as laboratory facilities.”</p><p>Tristan knew the second half of that statement was not directed at him, but there followed a long enough pause that he was nudged past irritation into morbid fascination, wondering if she would respond before his father looked up, or after.</p><p>“It will be useful,” she finally relented, expressionless. Then she unfolded her arms from within her sleeves, and placed her hands on her lap as though preparing to stand. It was presumptuous, and irked Tristan right back into irritation.</p><p>“This is an open requisition request,” the general said as he finished scrawling, and slid the sheet across to Tristan. “Present it to the Quartermaster. I expect you’ll use good judgment.”</p><p>Tristan scanned the missive briefly, then carefully tri-folded and slid it into his inner pocket. “Yessir.”</p><p>The response earned him a curt nod as Julian reached for a fresh sheet of parchment.</p><p>“Dismissed.”</p><p>The word had barely formed on his lips when the woman was on her feet, and a trump gate had crackled into existence on the other side of her chair. Tristan popped up as she stepped through it.</p><p>“Hey!” he barked, indignant.</p><p>She turned on the other side, and stared at him bitterly.</p><p>“I’m retrieving my personnel files,” she bit back. “I’ll find you, m’Lord.”</p><p>The gate snapped shut between them. Tristan gaped at the spot where it had been for a long moment, then clenched his jaw and dropped his chin. He bent to retrieve his cap, and cast his father a rueful expression as he slid his thumb over the brim.</p><p>“Really, dad?” he asked, voice pitched low.</p><p>Julian didn’t bother to look up.</p><p>“Make it work, Colonel,” was all he replied.</p><hr/><p>Barrack Forty-Four, colloquially known as The Foundry, was located at the far west end of Arden Command, in what was left of the original Fort Arden. Relatively secluded and more than slightly overgrown, it had an ‘abandoned clubhouse’ feel that Tristan had always appreciated and - as he rode Vega around its perimeter, reflecting - was slightly disappointed to see excavated. The forest had been hacked away from its stableyard, and cleared between the larger building and the smaller one; the creeping ivy peeled back and pulled down from the chimneys and roofs; hitching posts and hand pumps stood stripped after ages of wildflower overgrowth…</p><p>Most of the post-demo cleanup was unsurprisingly half-assed though, so that’d make for some teambuilding opportunities later.</p><p>Tristan dismounted, removed Vega’s bridle, and tethered her to the picket. He slipped out of his uniform jacket and hung it from the end post, then hooked his cap on top; rolled his sleeves to just above the elbow, stoppered the trough, and pumped a few gallons in for her before moving toward the hangar-like main structure.</p><p>Cooper, who had been nosing curiously among the piles of wilting vinery, bounded toward him. There was an eruption of flapping wings when Tristan tugged the door, and the cattle dog darted through the narrow gap, scrambling after a congregation of wood pigeons as they beat a hasty retreat into the rafters, rosy grey feathers flashing in the dappled light.</p><p>Tristan braced a foot against the jamb and shoved the door wide, making note of the sticky hinge that shrieked in protest moments before it seized to an abrupt halt. The sudden stop punched out an <em> oof </em> of surprise, and it took a moment of nudging the worn metal back-and-forth before he was able to work it loose enough to complete the track. He added it to the growing list in his head, and entered the stable.</p><p>With the birds successfully herded, Cooper had crouched down on his belly in the middle of the aisle to keep an eye on them. His tawny head whipped around when his person approached, and his nub of a tail flicked rapidly as he popped to his feet. Tristan stooped to affectionately squish his pointed ears on the way by, but his attention was focused mainly on the condition of the tie stalls (surprisingly good) and gear racks (acceptable for requested unit size) as he continued into the building.</p><p>There were three well-spaced doors in the wall at the far end: left, right, and a double between them. The left led to the communal showers, which he strolled through to confirm that the skylights had been cleared (affirmative) and the foot pumps drew water (ehhh) before propping open a side door to let it air out, and crossing part of the common room to the CO Quarters. Cooper paused for a quick drink from the drain and trotted after him, looking up and sitting when Tristan hesitated with his hand over the knob, scowling.</p><p>Typically these rooms were built to accommodate one occupant — would <em> fit </em> two if they shared a desk, staggered prep times, and didn’t mind sleeping in each-other’s pockets. He and Leo had perfected that dance long ago, but it’d been easy after their progression of shoebox dorms at the Academy, and during OFC.</p><p>He hadn’t the first clue about life at Sage Hall, though. And the thing was, usually that sort of acknowledgment made him chivalrous. But after the hostile non-introduction and unnecessarily aggressive departure, he was feeling a little scalded, and there was <em> no way </em> he was going to roll over and assume this ‘FA Shard’ would prefer her own quarters. If the room turned out to be a single (or a very cramped double), he’d make her ask for it.</p><p>It was neither. What it <em> was </em> was cool, shady, bereft of any decoration, and home to exactly seven pieces of furniture: two desks, directly in front of the windows; two chairs at each, one behind and one facing; and a long filing cabinet against the opposite wall, two columns of three drawers. The door at the far end from him led back into the stable.</p><p>Tristan had a mixed reaction to the discovery. On one hand it meant Command thought they should kip as a team, which was practically SOP when the Vert were out on rotation already, so no big change there, but might prove interesting in a long-term co-ed setting. On the other, he <em> desperately </em> wanted to flip the orientation of the room, because no CO in their right fucking mind would sit their back to a woodland-facing window like that great <em> goddess </em>some genius asshole on Arden’s payroll actually <em> planned this shit</em>.</p><p>He’d almost finished rearranging - was just hefting the file cabinet into its new space between the windows, Cooper stretched out dozing on his side in the threshold - when he felt the familiar twitch of a trump call (touch, touch, attempt) and decided yes, it was probably a good time to take a break. The back of his shirt was starting to cling, and now that he’d had time to process the news, this conversation needed to happen sooner than later.</p><p>“I’m really glad you called,” Tristan said when he let it connect. He stepped out into the stable, and heard Cooper’s nails scramble on the wood floor as he shot up from his nap to follow before the door could close between them. “I have to make some difficult personnel decisions, and could really use your input.”</p><p>“And here I was just calling to make sure you didn’t need me to grab anything from Northport on my way back to Central tomorrow.” Leo sat up from his casual sprawl and set his coffee mug aside, giving over his full attention. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“Command has tasked me with co-leading an initiative with the SA.” Saying it out loud put a bitter taste in his mouth, and Tristan sucked his tongue a moment, forcing himself to salivate and spit into the straw on his way to the yard. “I need to pick my nine best to come with me, but not hamstring you in the process.”</p><p>“But not-” Leo’s brow pinched, perplexed. “What are-” He frowned, voice tightening. “You’re <em>what?”</em></p><p>“I’m being reassigned to co-command a new Joint Task Force,” Tristan stated, wearily rubbing a palm across his damp brow. “I need you to lead the Vert, Leo.”</p><p>There was a heady pause as his friend took this in, knowing the admission wasn’t being couched as an order, or a request, but as a foregone conclusion — because if Tristan hoped to function effectively in his new role, he couldn’t be peripherally concerned about the rest of his men, and leaving Leo in charge would mitigate that. Still, it was a notable moment before the caller nodded.</p><p>“Ok,” he said, resolute. “What’s our window?”</p><p>Tristan cringed. “Today."</p><p>Leo blinked, slowly, his expression blank. Then he was getting to his feet. “Where’ve they sent you?”</p><p>“The Foundry.” Tristan scrubbed his hands together in the trough, and shook them dry. “Want a lift?”</p><p>Leo nodded, already on the move. “Give me ten,” he said, and released the call.</p><hr/><p>“I think you should take Avery.”</p><p>Tristan had pulled Leo to his location, as offered: civilian gear, leading his mount, rucksack over his shoulder, and bearing an armload of sandwiches and baked goods and contraband beer (although he was quick to point out that, as he was still <em> technically </em> on leave until the following afternoon, and none of the new unit were actually <em> on site </em> at the moment, was it <em> really </em> contraband). They’d tethered their mares in the standing stalls with some hay to keep them busy, and set about the arduous task of culling a roster of 216 eligible candidates.</p><p>Nearly three hours later, they’d succeeded in whittling it down to twelve. Eleven of those personnel files now lay on the desk between them, spread like a deck of cards. Leo was passing him the twelfth.</p><p>“Love to.” Tristan cocked his head, openly conflicted as he accepted the proffered dossier. “Might be a big ask for Command, though. He’s just coming off medical, and they’re eager to get Bravo Squad back in rotation.”</p><p>“Then leave me Eoin,” Leo replied around a mouthful of shortbread, sliding one of the files toward himself. Tristan raised his eyes.</p><p>“Give him Bravo,” he said, brow curling thoughtfully.</p><p>Leo shrugged. “I think he’s ready for his own team,” he said. “Don’t you?”</p><p>“I do,” Tristan nodded in agreement, turning his attention back to Captain Geller’s file. Avery was an excellent asset: smart, keen with the details, handled adversity with aplomb, played well with others. He closed the cover with another nod, and set it by his elbow.</p><p>“And I know you want Petra,” Leo said, nudging another dossier out of the lineup, but clearly meaning it as a double entendre. Tristan laughed.</p><p>“Asshole.” He pushed it back toward Leo. “Don’t tempt me. You’ll need him to replace Eoin on Alpha.”</p><p>(His friend wasn’t wrong, though. If he’d met Sergeant Petra Üdele under any other circumstance, he’d have let that man drill him to a wall.)</p><p>There was a small pause as both men sipped, pondering the nine remaining files. Eventually, Tristan spoke up.</p><p>“I’m taking Bailey,” he said, lifting the top dossier and flipping the cover. Leo made a surprised sound, which Tristan acknowledged with a glance. “You disagree?”</p><p>“Just doing my job,” he retorted frankly. Then, with sincerity, “He’s barely more than a Twig, T. And I know you’re rooting for him — <em>not</em> unjustly,” he hastened to add when Tristan’s face twisted for a rebuttal, “I agree he has a <em> lot </em> of potential. Only .. Maybe let him weather some storms first?”</p><p>It was a valid argument. Sergeant Oliver Bailey Graves had come in with the latest group of trainees, fresh-faced in spite of the rigors of qualification, quickly endearing himself to his peers by displaying a sense of humour that gave as well as he got, yet eternally without malice. A typical Boy from the Buckden, with barley-coloured hair and a grin that never quite quit, he was quick on his feet, nearly silent in movement, blended in when necessary, shone with verve when fully engaged, and Tristan had grown up knowing so many young men like him it was truthfully a pleasant nostalgia to have him around.</p><p>But also,</p><p>“You know he got into Malwain OFC on scholarship?” he asked, passing the file to Leo, who gave it a cursory scan as he continued. “Some recruiter at Buckden Academy noticed he had a head for numbers, and petitioned for a Patron of Arms; kid went on to graduate top of his class before electing to join the Rangers.” Tristan laced his fingers together on the desk, smiling inwardly at a slow realization. When Leo met his gaze with an inquisitive look, he turned the expression outward; steepled his index fingers toward the file. “He’s me, without the privilege. So yeah, I guess I <em> am </em> rooting for him. And something tells me he would really excel at this assignment.”</p><p>Leo gave the dossier one last look, then closed and passed it over. “Selection defended,” he said, lifting his beer for a sip as he scanned the remaining options. “In that case, I’m retaining Parker.” He tugged a file from the middle, and slapped it decisively on his stack. “Because you can’t have <em> both </em> rays of sunshine, dammit. We’ll fucking wilt.”</p><p>Tristan huffed a laugh, taking up his own bottle. “Done,” he said, scooping the remaining dossiers into a pile atop Avery and Bailey’s before sitting back in his chair, tilting on two feet until his shoulders were flush to the wall behind him. He lifted the beer toward Leo in a salute.</p><p>“That was surprisingly less painful than I thought it would be,” he confessed.</p><p>“A most amicable divorce, m’Lord,” Leo intoned, mocking a small bow from his seat.</p><p>“Oh!” The front feet of Tristan’s chair hit the wood floor with a crack. Cooper scrambled up from his nap with a soft woof of surprise, wedged head turned to the stable door, ears up. Both men cringed, and Tristan beckoned the dog over with a click of his fingers, palm outward. “That reminds me,” he continued, stroking the dog’s face when he shouldered against his person's leg for reassurance. ”I had what honestly may have been the most hostile first encounter of my life this morning. Out-of-combat, that is.”</p><p>Leo snorted. “Worse than Meredith Laroux? Because I remember that meeting, and let me tell you-”</p><p>Tristan went flat. “Why are you like this?” he asked, hand resting on Cooper’s head. Then, with dawning awareness, “You had drinks with Aunna in Northport.”</p><p>“I think she’s got something going on in Shadow,” Leo posited by way of confirmation. “She seems .. unwound, I guess. More at ease. Calmer.” His voice developed a warmth that spoke of a deep, almost familial affection, which had survived their brief romantic interlude at Arden OFC to become something more cherished. “I’d almost forgotten she could laugh. It was nice to hear.” He caught Tristan’s eye then, and waved off whatever else he might have said on the matter. “But no. ‘Most hostile first encounter’. Go.”</p><p>Tristan was taking a breath to begin his recap when he realized that Cooper was still staring at the closed door, rigid and alert under the hand on his head. A beat later, and both men were stiffening at the sudden eruption of flapping wings on the other side, which was somehow both irritating and unsurprising — she <em> did </em> say she’d find him, after all. Tristan looked to Leo with a <em> Wait for it </em> expression. Leo blinked awkwardly back at him as they got to their feet. Cooper let slip a low woof when the stable-end door opened, and FA Shard strode in.</p><p>The woman paused a step across the threshold, eyes locking first on the dog before sliding to Tristan, then flicking to his companion. They roamed across his XO with the same assessing manner she’d used on him in Julian’s office, and while he felt Leo shoulder back in challenge under her scrutiny, she still appeared to come to the same lacklustre conclusion — possibly moreso, as the major was in civvies, and had a bottle of beer hooked in his fingers. She raised one eyebrow when she saw it. Rolled her attention slowly back to Tristan-</p><p>-and was abruptly upstaged by a much broader, much darker version of herself, who crossed with quick strides to the empty desk and unceremoniously dropped the satchel she’d been carrying across her back onto it, the leather bag making a shockingly heavy thud as it touched down. <em>This</em> woman immediately faced the two men and smiled wide, her teeth flashing as she stepped toward Tristan, right hand outstretched.</p><p>“Good afternoon, Colonel Rozenberg,” she said, voice startlingly bright and melodic. “I’m APO Saffron, Executive Officer to the First Acolyte.”</p><p>At five-foot eleven, it was a rare woman who could look Tristan in the eye without elevated footwear, so when he actually had to tilt his chin up a little to meet Saffron’s cheerful gaze, the effect was slightly disorienting. A lifetime of Court and Military functions had prepared him for moments such as these, however, and instinct kicked in without a hitch. He grasped her hand, firm but benevolent, and returned her expression.</p><p>“APO Saffron,” he repeated.</p><p>“Saf, if you like,” she interjected.</p><p>“Saf,” he parrotted with a small nod, releasing her hand. “Tristan.” He made a small motion to the man beside him. “My XO, Major Leo Westwood.”</p><p>Her attention moved with the direction, and she offered the same hand. “Major Westwood.”</p><p>“Leo,” he prompted. They shook, and Saffron’s attention dropped to the dog plastered to Tristan’s shin. Her already luminous expression broadened.</p><p>“And who’s this?” she asked, stooping to his level and - after a quick glance between the men - hesitantly holding out the back of her hand to sniff.</p><p>“Cooper,” Tristan replied. The dog’s head tipped back to acknowledge his name with a look, and his person made a small, permissive motion. He stepped forward to greet the newcomer cautiously, then sank into the attention gladly when she scratched under his chin just so, cooing at him in what sounded like Deigan. </p><p>“Saffron.”</p><p>The other woman’s voice from the doorway was a dead thing, toneless and flat. Saffron passed Tristan a sly wink from her crouched position.</p><p>“Don’t mind Shard,” she said, as though talking to the dog. “She’s mostly bark.”</p><p>“<em>Acolyte</em>,” Shard added, voice sharp with a tone that said she would not tolerate insubordination. Saffron’s expression faded slightly before she gave Cooper a final pat, and rose to face her CO.</p><p>“What would you ask of me,” she responded, as if by rote.</p><p>“Take a survey of the outer building,” Shard ordered, arms folding into her sleeves as she scanned the room with a dissatisfied squint. “And take him with you,” she added, jerking her chin at Leo.</p><p>“Um…” Leo trailed off, looking to Tristan for support.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Tristan said, his own voice a bit hardened because how dare this person assume to assign tasks to anyone in his command. “Leo’s not joining this initiative. He’s overseeing the rest of the Rowan Vert.”</p><p>“He’s also technically on leave until tomorrow,” Leo added. But then he turned a friendly smile on Saffron, and said, “He’ll walk out with you, though. Point you in the right direction.”</p><p>“Thank you, Leo,” Saffron replied.</p><p>Leo waved it off, then scooped up the remaining beers and tucked them under his arm, giving Tristan a sympathetic eye. Tristan clapped Leo’s bicep, and when his friend indicated the dog with a glance, he nodded. Leo stooped to scrub the heeler’s ears.</p><p>“C’mon, Coop,” he said.</p><p>The dog hesitated briefly, looking to his person for confirmation when the other man moved toward the door; received it in the form of a stroke between the eyes and a quick pat on his side before he trotted away.</p><p>There was a moment of bottlenecked maneuvering as Shard ended whatever conversation she’d been having with Saffron in the doorway, and the two women shared narrow looks before the taller turned her smile back on, directing it at Leo and stepping out. For his part, Leo made an effort to acknowledge the other woman on his way by, but her attention had shifted to Tristan in an obvious dismissal of anyone else. With a small shrug back over his shoulder, Leo followed Saffron into the stable, waited for Cooper to exit, and closed the door behind them. Tristan heard them strike up a conversation, voices fading as they departed.</p><p>In a last ditch attempt at hospitality, he gestured toward the remaining baked goods on his desk. “Want a biscuit?” he asked, aiming for ‘amicable’. </p><p>Shard all but sneered as she approached her desk, and flipped open the satchel Saffron had left behind.</p><p>“Let’s not waste time, m’Lord,” she stated, pulling a stack of files, a deck of cards, and a small multi-faceted orb from the bag.</p><p>“Are you defaulting to my royal address because you don’t know how military titles work?” he asked, a sliver of temper slipping through.</p><p>Shard did not respond. Instead she proceeded to extract more items from the satchel than was dimensionally possible: mainly notebooks and tomes, which she sorted into several seemingly arbitrary piles around her desk; but also what looked like the head of a pitchfork, curved to resemble a rustic crown, and a frosted sphere roughly the size of a tenpin ball.</p><p>She set the sculpture down in the only unoccupied corner of her desk, placed the sphere in the basket of its tines, and turned her gaze outside; muttered something under her breath and made a complicated hand motion. The sphere began to glow just enough to offset the fading daylight, and Tristan felt his tactical mind immediately open wide.</p><p>It was basically a portable version of the orbs that lit the Crixa, which he’d somehow never considered as possible before, but now that he had the advantages of it in a handheld form were propagating exponentially in his head, filling him with so many technical questions he felt his mouth slowly opening to let them tumble out-</p><p>-but then he caught Shard’s glare from the other side of her desk, where she’d taken a seat and was flipping through her files, eyes narrowed irritably as though <em> he’d </em> kept <em> her </em> waiting - like she hadn’t just unpacked half a goddamn library onto her desk - and his jaw clenched in a muted grinding of teeth. He stared back at her, then flicked his gaze between the chair across from her and the window at its back, and opted to resume his own seat instead.</p><p>“So what do I call you?” he asked, once he'd settled in.</p><p>When she didn’t respond, he sighed and took up a pen; spun it around his finger a few times to dispel some energy before adding,</p><p>“All things being said, I’m probably just as thrilled about this as you are-”</p><p>She let out a derisive snort. He breathed through a flare of indignation before resuming.</p><p>“-but I’ve been ordered to make this work, and doing that is going to require us to talk. So I’ll ask again: What do I call you?”</p><p>There was still a brief pause before her reply, although it felt more calculating than bluntly hostile. “First Acolyte,” she said.</p><p>“Then I would ask you to address me as Colonel when I’m in uniform,” he retorted. Because two could play at that game, and at least now he was sure what ‘FA’ stood for.</p><p>“Very well, Colonel,” she shot back, putting more ‘k’ sound at the start of the word than was necessary.</p><p>Tristan cycled another five-count breath, and the more temperate part of himself pointed out that this was getting them nowhere, the snipping back-and-forth. Yes, she’d come out the gate swinging and it’d put his back up. Yes, she seemed intent on maintaining the offensive and now it was all too easy to rise to the bait. But for this initiative to have <em> any </em> chance of success, he’d have to be the bigger person and just Do The Job.</p><p>He tucked the pen behind his ear, squared his files by tapping the folded edges on the desk, and got to his feet. He curled his grip around the stack, braced it against his forearm, and lifted his chair with his other hand; carried it over to the corner of her desk, set it down at a three-quarter angle to the wall, and settled in again.</p><p><em> This </em> finally got her attention. Her honey-brown eyes widened as she registered his actions.</p><p>“What are you doing?” she snapped.</p><p>In response, Tristan leaned forward to set his company’s dossiers in front of her. When he sat back, he lifted an ankle to his knee and folded his arms across his chest; fixed Shard with a patient stare. The woman’s eyes shifted from him, to the pile he’d presented, to the pile she’d brought, to the file in her hands. Slowly she closed it, set it atop its compatriots, and slid the stack closer to him.</p><p>He gave it a beat - just until she took up one of the Vert and began perusing - then unfurled enough to reach for one of hers.</p><hr/><p>The downside of the lamp was it made tracking time difficult, lulling him into a false sense of eternal sunshine until a knock at the inner door alerted him to the dusky eastern sky, at which point Tristan realized he was [1] in dire need of movement and [2] ravenously hungry — the second point made very public when his stomach growled almost violently as he stretched to his feet and crossed to his desk.</p><p>“Go,” he called out to the person beyond, picking a biscuit from the goods Leo had left behind, and ignoring the way Shard’s attention shifted sharply to him at the word.</p><p>Saffron peered around the jamb almost timidly, including both occupants when she offered, “I’ve done up some supper, if anyone’s interested.”</p><p>Her gaze settled on Tristan, who smiled as though caught out around a mouthful of shortbread before tipping the open bag toward her. Her face creased in a wide smile, and she entered to accept.</p><p>“I suppose this means the kitchen is functional?” Tristan asked. Saffron nodded as she pulled a trio of biscuits from the bag.</p><p>“It is now,” she confirmed. “There was a small issue with squirrels living in the chimney, but they were easy enough to take care of.” Her bright white incisors snapped into one of the shortbread, and she chewed thoughtfully before asking, “How are things in here?”</p><p>Tristan wavered a hand, head tilting side-to-side a moment. Saffron’s gaze shifted past him, a mixture of amused and weary crossing her features.</p><p>“Shard?” she hedged. The other woman responded in a grumbled language that sounded almost familiar but didn’t immediately translate. Saffron shrugged, and jerked her head back over her shoulder. “Care for stew, Tristan?”</p><p>“Love some, Saf,” he replied. “Just…”</p><p>Tristan stepped back to Shard’s desk, ignoring how she stiffened away from him when he pawed through the SA dossiers for a particular one. He held it up when he found it, brows rising in a wordless question. Saffron tilted her chin affirmatively, and thumbed toward the door. They exited, and she closed it silently behind them.</p><p>“I’d caution not to let her intimidate you,” Saffron offered as she crossed to the stove, “only I don’t think that'll be a problem.”</p><p>Her tone was light, humorous. Tristan chuckled as he followed, dropping her file on a table when they passed by.</p><p>“Not really, no,” he replied, equally light. “But I am curious to learn where the hostility comes from - not that I’m asking you to speak out of place,” he added quickly, almost backtracking with it. He hated when people probed Leo about him, so refused to press another XO that way. “I’ll figure it out, or I won’t. As long as it doesn’t negatively impact our effectiveness, how she feels about me on a personal level is negligible.”</p><p>Saffron was silent a moment before responding. “That’s refreshing to hear, actually.” She lifted the lid off the pot on the stove and set it aside; took up a ladle in one hand, and a bowl in the other. “I <em> will </em> say I don’t think I’ve met many people as devoted to their craft as Shard,” she resumed, carefully dishing out servings as she spoke, and passing them to him when he offered his hands. “The things she’s achieving with trump energy manipulation are revolutionary. Truly. So when I tell you this assignment feels like an unnecessary distraction to her, I hope you’ll understand.”</p><p>And ok, <em> that </em> made sense. He’d known many soldiers to go off on a snit when pulled from a task they were engrossed in, just to participate in some Command folly that fell into obscurity a month later. He’d felt a bit of that himself, when the order for this co-op was given. Still didn’t excuse her <em> overall </em> rudeness, but at least he could believe it wasn’t just <em> him</em>.</p><p>Tristan gave Saffron a commiserating smile. “I do,” he said, nodding slightly. “Thank you.”</p><p>Smiling in return, she picked up a third bowl to fill, and Tristan carried the pair he was holding to the table. He scanned the common room as he set them down, noting that it looked much cleaner than his cursory examination had determined earlier, and was turning to thank Saffron for tidying up when he saw her enter the office, dinner for her CO in hand. He appreciated the devotion it exhibited; read it as a bond similar to his with Leo, deep and abiding.</p><p>When Saffron returned a few moments later - sans bowl, plus the last of the bread from lunch - he pulled a chair back for her as a courtesy, and sat to the right. She tore the small loaf in half as she settled, and passed him one of the ends with a smile.</p><p>They made small talk while they ate, sticking to safe topics like hobbies and interests at first; dipping into motivations and ambitions as the evening wore on. He learned things about her that weren’t recorded in her dossier — like her adoration of dogs, and that she played sling position for an intramural Scramble league. He also confirmed some line items, including the fact that she’d grown up in Deig'a as a refugee of the Gheneshan War, but had been too young at the time of displacement to remember ‘before’ with any real clarity. Her bright disposition expelled some of his lingering foul mood, and he was hopeful that the rest of the SA would be more in line with her personality than their CO’s.</p><p>They spent some time after dinner reviewing her personnel file, and she helped make sense of the differing acronyms and lingo. Her rank address, for example: APO. In his mind, that was Arden Post Office; but to Sage Hall, it was ‘Acolyte, Primary Order’. Also ‘rack’ in his lexicon was typically ‘bunk’ or ‘boobs’ (depending on context), but meant ‘reserve’ in her world, so when he reread one of her action reports with that in mind, it made <em>much </em>more sense.</p><p>The red gold glow of sunset was burning through the western windows, its light slowly being consumed by shadows of treetops, when Shard emerged from the office. She stopped hard in the doorway with bowl in hand, taking in their proximity with a narrow gaze that made Tristan actually question if he was sitting inappropriately close; had him checking with a quick glance around. Only-</p><p>“Where is your file?” she demanded.</p><p>All of the ease created over the past hour with Saffron evaporated. Tristan rolled his shoulders back and squared up in his seat, but kept his hands folded on the tabletop.</p><p>“I suspect it’s in my CO’s office,” he retorted cooly. Then, “Where’s <em> your </em> file?”</p><p>In rebuttal, Shard spun on her heel and disappeared back into the office. Saffron shot him a bracing look, and picked up their bowls as she stood; made a staying motion when he moved to assist.</p><p>Shard returned, strode purposefully toward Tristan, and slapped a thick crimson binder on the table with enough forward momentum it slid across the surface to run up against his forearm. Then she folded her arms into her sleeves, challenging.</p><p>He glanced down at the offering, then up at her. It had not been with the others, which meant she’d only given it over because he’d said something — but then he’d only said something because <em> she </em> had, which felt like he’d scored a point somehow. Or could, depending on his response.</p><p>So he pulled his trumps and thumbed through them to Julian’s, who answered following OpSec Protocol and made a wry expression when Tristan told him that FA Shard wished to review his personnel file. It was handed over without further remark, and the call was dropped from the general’s end. Tristan returned the card to the deck, and casually set the hefty green folio on the table; settled back in his chair with fingers laced over his stomach.</p><p>Her eyes flicked from him, to the file, to her XO, back to the file. Finally she snatched it up, and returned to the office, closing the door behind her. After a beat Tristan heaved a sigh and sat upright, ran his palms up over his face, fingers through his hair.</p><p>“I honestly don’t think she expected you to give it up without a fight,” he heard Saffron say from the wash basin.</p><p>He shrugged, regardless if she could see it.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I?” he replied, his eyes on Shard’s file, pondering the efficacy of the offering: <em> Is this bait, or an olive branch? </em> “I know my worth, and there’s nothing in my service record I’m ashamed of.”</p><p>No sound but scrubbing for a moment. Then,</p><p>“If it’s any consolation,” she continued, voice brightening, “you’ve gotten farther than most in a fraction of the time.”</p><p>He huffed a wry laugh. “I have some experience versus terse women.”</p><p>She mimicked the sound, and went back to washing up. Tristan drummed his fingertips across the table, pinky landing on the file with a measured <em> da-da-da-pap da-da-da-pap</em>.</p><p>Shard might have expected him to resist giving over his file, but he’d been flat out bluffing when he asked about hers in return — all things being equal, she wouldn’t be in her position if she weren’t capable, and knowing that was enough for him to wave off the details.</p><p>Now that it was in front of him though, he was leaning toward curiosity.</p><p>He slid the dossier closer, and flipped it open; leafed past the personal information to the partition tabbed ‘SA Meritus’, and settled in to read. He scanned through the list of accolades, the action reports filed in petition for them, the depositions from superiors and peers supporting their bestowal. They were a glimpse into a world more parallel to his than he’d realized, where projectiles were fired by the mind instead of a crossbow yet were no less lethal-</p><p>-and <em> there </em> it was, the <em> ah-ha </em>moment where this endeavour actually made sense and, if successful, would be exhilarating to be part of.</p><p>He just needed to refresh his head a bit before it would come together.</p><p>Tristan closed the file and stood. The common room was mostly dark now, and Saffron had joined Shard in the office after cleaning up their meal, so he picked up their files and headed that way; rapped his knuckles twice against the jamb in courtesy before entering.</p><p>The two women were seated behind Shard’s desk, which appeared more organized than he’d last seen. His chair had also been returned to its place, and the remnants of lunch had been cleared.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said, holding out the files as he approached. When Shard did not reach to take them, Saffron did. “I’d like to wrap this up for the night, however,” he advised. “Start fresh in the morning, oh-six-hundred?”</p><p>“Yes,” Saffron replied, almost pointedly, and focused her attention on Shard.</p><p>She had eyes only for Tristan however, and seemed intent on withering him with her gaze. He was finished butting heads, though. At least for the night.</p><p>“Most of mine won’t be back at Central until mid afternoon,” he supplied. “My plan is to make the announcement and move them over by dinner; let them rack up and settle in, then start training as per request the day after Coronation.”</p><p>Shard considered this for a moment, gaze downcast as she squared up the stacks she’d made of the dossiers - red and green mingled together in three groups of six, his folio and hers making their own pile off to the side - then nodded.</p><p>“That is acceptable,” she said, focusing on him again. “I intend a similar track.”</p><p>Tristan returned the motion, and resisted the urge to glance between them; instead kept his words directed to Shard, allowing her the courtesy of her station when he repeated, “Oh-six-hundred then?”</p><p>“I will be here,” she responded.</p><p>There was an obvious dismissal in her tone, so Tristan gave Saffron a peripheral farewell, gathered his uniform cap and jacket from where he’d laid them after Leo's arrival, and put them on as he returned to the stable. He tacked Vega up and led her into the yard; used the glow from the office window to call Leo, who answered with a tumbler in hand.</p><p>“C’mon then,” his friend said, offering it out. Tristan wrapped his fingers around it, and stepped forward.</p><p>“My hero,” he replied.</p><hr/><p>The following morning, however-</p><p>“Tristan!”</p><p>He sat bolt upright from sleep, and squinted toward Avery’s figure, silhouetted in the doorway.</p><p>“Go.” From under the cot, Cooper let out a soft woof in emphasis.</p><p>“Prince Corwin has been apprehended,” the captain reported. “Foothills Guard caught him climbing the backside of Kolvir with a small insurgency at zero-four-fifty, CST. He’s been taken to the castle.”</p><p>“Fuuuuck,” Tristan yawned, the U drawing out long as he fell back into the pillow, scrubbing his hands over his face.</p><p>“Happy Coronation Eve,” Leo quipped into his pillow from the other cot.</p><p>Tristan’s voice was a thick, muffled mess behind his palms. “Double fuuuuck.”</p><p>He dropped his arms and sat up again. Cooper wormed out from under the cot when the man in it swung his legs over the side, and paused to lick Avery’s outturned hand on his way through the door. Tristan stood, noted the pearling dawn outside, and turned up his wrist to check the time as he reached for his slacks.</p><p>“How’d you find out so fast?” he asked, stepping into them. “It’s barely after five.”</p><p>“Strangest thing,” the captain replied. “I bumped into a Scarlet Acolyte out on my run this morning. She got the notification while we were chatting about foraging. Did you know they have two-way communicators?”</p><p>Tristan faced him while buttoning his trousers. “So do we, Ave,” he said, tilting his head toward the trump pouch on top of his foot locker with a wry smirk. The redhead made a differential wave.</p><p>“Fair, but not exactly. It was more…” He cupped one hand as though cradling something in his palm, and made like he was tapping whatever was resting there with his thumb. Then he shrugged, and settled against the door frame. “Anyhow, she got the notice, passed it on to me, then asked if I wanted a lift back to Central to tell you. So.”</p><p>Tristan heard Leo sit up as he traded out his slept-in tee for a clean one. “I really shouldn’t be surprised,” he said, tucking it in. “Aunna always did make him out to be a bit of a dramaturge. Showing up to assassinate the Crown Regent the day before his Coronation seems in character to me.”</p><p>“You think he timed it?” Leo asked.</p><p>Tristan shrugged. “Or it was a gross oversight. He did lead armies though, and you said ‘small insurgency’,” he shifted his eyes to Avery, who nodded, “which leads me to think ‘kill squad’. Maybe he was hoping to sneak in amid the hubbub of visiting dignitaries and extra staff. Who the fuck knows.”</p><p>“Think this’ll impact the new initiative?” Avery asked. When the two senior officers stared at him, he grinned rather than quailing. “A benefit of playing General’s Secretary the past couple weeks. After your meeting yesterday, and my random encounter on the west side this morning, things kinda fell into place.”</p><p>“Right there.” Leo pointed at Avery, but looked at Tristan. “<em>That </em> is why I told you to take him. It’s impossible to hide <em> anything </em> from this observant prick.”</p><p>“Well, I’d be pretty shit at my job if <em>you</em> could,” Avery shot back, blithely. Leo cast him an amused wink, salty like siblings, and slung his legs over the side of his cot.</p><p>“I honestly couldn’t say, Ave,” Tristan confessed, picking up his boots and sitting on the foot locker to pull them on. “But unless I hear otherwise, I will continue BAU.”</p><p>The captain nodded slowly before shrugging out of his lean, saying, “Then my work here is done. I’m off to my last round of PT.” He took hold of the door handle and started to pull it to; abruptly stopped when Cooper slid back into the room, and ducked his head around to ask, “Are you, though?”</p><p>Tristan gave him a puzzled look. “Am I..?”</p><p>“Taking me with you,” Avery clarified.</p><p>“If Command signs off, yes.”</p><p>The man’s face practically split. “Excellent. Saffron is a riot,” he said, and departed.</p><p>Leo stared at the closed door, then grinned almost maniacally. “Oh, you’re in for it now, Sir.”</p><p>Tristan dropped his chin with a smile and a sigh.</p><p>Yeah, he suspected he was.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was never going to be easy.</p><p>True, it could have gone much worse than it did. But even the <em> inference </em> of easy was laughable.</p><p>As anticipated, settling his guys into a co-ed environment was an interesting exercise in patience and resolve. While suddenly bunking with a bunch of strangers <em> always </em> led to a period of adjustment, the addition of ‘gender’ to the mix meant there were a few private discussions early on regarding appropriate barracks behaviour, and implied versus actual consent (the latter given to one of <em> hers</em>, funnily enough, which chuffed Tristan up a bit since the worst <em> he’d </em> had to address was ‘please wear undershorts in the common areas, Gideon’).</p><p>Although cohabitation mostly smoothed itself out, it did so through no sense of unity, and scant budding camaraderie. Even Cooper - who adored attention almost to a fault, and thrived on interaction as any good herding dog would - seemed reticent to mingle with any of the SA beyond Saffron. The majority of them were cordial to one-another at best, but seemed disinclined to learn much beyond the name, rank, and proficiency of their counterpart. They tended to self-segregate when left to their own devices, with very few exceptions.</p><p>At least Saffron and Avery (whose personalities meshed well, and by virtue of their chance encounter had already discovered a common ground upon which to build their partnership) established themselves as the lead duo from day one, and could be counted on to report grievances or requisition supplies on the fledgling unit’s behalf. In Saffron’s case it made sense: She’d been Shard’s XO before, so the SA reporting to her was foregone. That Avery was able to parlay his proximity to her into a workable facsimile for Tristan’s benefit however, regardless of rank or title, drove home how invaluable Captain Geller would become in light of Leo being tied down managing the rest of the Vert. Thankfully, when Tristan requested Avery be elevated to Major, Command was quick to sign off on the promotion.</p><p>The only other Vert to openly oppose the keeping-our-distance mentality was Bailey, who surprised no one in handling the transition with delighted equanimity, and immediately bonded like a long-lost brother with APO Graves — himself a few years younger, but already considered a veteran among the SA. The two bantered <em> constantly </em>over ridiculously ordinary things - Bull’s Bay Bruisers vs. Portwinstäad Pikes, J. Vaughn Monrow serials, Lana the Lewd - then spent hours in the common room debating the hypotheticals of a collective consciousness as ‘Gray’ sketched vignettes in his notebook, or the tractability of Dworkin’s Fourth Law of Infinite Propagation while Bailey taught his partner how to service a crossbow.</p><p>(And oh! the face Bailey had made when Tristan had slung an arm over his shoulders that first week, pointed at the lamp on Shard’s desk, and asked,</p><p>“Think you two can figure out a handheld version of that?”</p><p>It was like watching a sun rise behind those grey-green eyes, brilliant and awesome.)</p><p>What should have been a common-sense discussion about uniforms became a brutally infuriating multi-day debate, all stemming from the fact that there was <em> no fucking way </em> Tristan was letting the SA’s traditionally billowy Here-I-Am!Red monstrosity out into the field alongside members of his covert infiltration squad; not even for a simulated situation. There was a great deal of back-and-forth on the matter before Shard finally agreed on something more functionally fitted, in a deep maroon, with copious pockets and compartments. According to Avery, the Quartermaster had rolled his eyes at the requisition form before advising it’d be at least a week, possibly two, for product delivery.</p><p>They continued to make due in the meantime - target practice on the lawn, short drills in nearby clearings - but with half the squad sidelined by improper gear there was little else to be done, which drained morale to the verge of animosity. The primary role of a Rowan Vert was to observe and report, to assess and adapt, to not fall apart when a soft entry went FUBAR and stealth switched to swordplay, and to achieve an objective by exfiltrating with at least the same number of people as went in. His men were used to activity, mental and physical. Being stuck in the yard doing calisthenics, getting shown up by telekinesis day after day, was hardly their idea of engaging entertainment.</p><p>The morning the new uniforms arrived marked a major turning point. When Tristan could <em> finally </em> start coordinating drills more geared toward their strengths, the Vert leapt at the chance to show their metal, and the SA got their first taste of what their ‘rustic’ counterparts could really do. Three months in, and it only took a few days of having their asses handed to them in head-to-head scenarios for the Acolytes to be suitably educated on how little they knew about field work, at which point even the highest-browed of them came down a peg or two to ask for instruction.</p><p>After that, everything clicked. Walls evaporated, people started talking, friendly rivalries cropped up, a couple potential romances were curtailed. Trust between the two groups led to advancements in materiel, including the project he’d assigned to Bailey and Gray (now collectively referred to as ‘the Graves’, with ironic affection); and impromptu trapping / foraging / cooking challenges issued between Ave and Saf left the barracks well fed, if not exactly clamoring to know what they were eating. Cooper freely flopped wherever he could be reached by the most hands at once during Rec time, having achieved mascot status.</p><p>Shard, though…</p><p>Shard was still abrasive on the best of days; wholly capable of souring the mood in a room just by walking through, and tirelessly unrepentant about it. She talked down to anyone who wasn’t an SA, or a notably superior officer, or otherwise deemed worthy of her current attention. She’d disappear into the Lab for hours - <em> days </em> - on end, then emerge just long enough to attend their scheduled debriefs before hying off again. More often than not all he wanted afterwards was a stiff one to clear his head. It was <em> exhausting</em>.</p><p>Thankfully Saffron was around to play clean-up, although there were times Tristan felt badly for her having to do so — especially those instances when Avery was forced to give their joint report solo, because she’d been called off upon arrival to manage her CO’s latest irritation. The one time Tristan had tried to speak up on her behalf however, Saf had immediately pulled him aside and - in no uncertain terms - told him to back off. It was the only time she'd ever been cross with him, and while he didn’t fully understand the dynamic between the two women, he respected Saffron enough to walk away. Things improved after that, though, so there must’ve been a conversation of some sort. The First Acolyte started calling him ‘Rozenberg’ instead of ‘Colonel’, and she didn’t look like she wanted to punch him in the face as much when he answered.</p><p>So no. It was <em> never </em> going to be easy.</p><p>But it was <em> exciting</em>.</p><p>And it was <em> working</em>.</p><hr/><p>“…so he calls me into his office this morning, and basically tells me that the Royal Exchequer thinks we’re a grossly overfunded R&amp;D unit, garnering resources that would be better allocated elsewhere; and although His Majesty is duly impressed with what we’ve achieved, he’s inclined to think that Sage Hall can assume future ordnance development projects, and doesn’t see the need to keep a combat unit tied down by it, long term.”</p><p>It’d been a blindside blow that left him seeing red. When he’d gotten back to The Foundry after, he briefed Saf and Avery on the situation (knowing the former would inform her CO), granted everyone the night off, and called Leo. Now ensconced at The Hill, where the ambient murmur did well to cover his much-needed bitch session, Tristan was no longer verging on rage, but was still abundantly peeved.</p><p>“Four years, Leo,” he growled, grinning menacingly into his pint a moment. “Four. Fucking. Years.”</p><p>The other man made a disgusted sound of solidarity. They drank almost simultaneously. Tristan set his empty mug down with a little more force than was strictly necessary, then cringed when the sound it made drew attention their way, and gave the room at large an apologetic grimace. Leo used it as an excuse to motion for another round as Tristan leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his neck, chin tilting toward the ceiling.</p><p>“They’ve officially pulled the plug, then?” Leo inquired. Tristan shook his head.</p><p>“Not yet,” he told the crossbeams. “But I suspect it’s coming. You know how this goes.”</p><p>The two lapsed into quiet as new pints were delivered, dirty mugs taken away. Eventually Leo spoke up, asking,</p><p>“Do you think, if you had something to pique their interest, they might reconsider?”</p><p>Tristan’s brows drew down in a ponderous scowl. He turned it toward his friend. “I’m pretty sure manufactured bullshit isn’t gonna work this time, dear. But here’s an E for effort.”</p><p>“Fuck you,” Leo smirked back. “I’m just trying to keep a bunk to myself for once. I’ve gotten used to the extra space.”</p><p>“<em>Goddess</em>,” Tristan whined as he sat up, and reached for his fresh beverage. “You just gave me a reason to hope they <em> do </em> shut us down. Racking up with nineteen other people has been fucking <em> awful</em>.”</p><p>There was another small pause as they made dents in their drinks.</p><p>“All joking aside though,” Leo resumed, “I <em> might </em> have a lead on something in your unit’s wheelhouse.”</p><p>“What makes you say that?” Tristan asked.</p><p>“Just a general sense of weirdness out in Garnath that Eoin reported a few days ago.” Leo scanned the bar a moment, then nodded across the room to where (recently Captained, currently civvie’d) Lewison was throwing darts with a few off-duty Rangers. “I was saving it for our next debrief, but he’d probably give you a quick rundown, if you were interested. Better than I could, anyway, since he saw it firsthand.”</p><p>Tristan watched the Bravo Squad leader throw two perfect nineteens, and then a two. The group around him made varying sounds of admiration to disgust as he retrieved his darts, and someone in the middle of the cluster started waving a hand over his head hollering ‘Pay out! Pay out!’ in the distinct slur of the slightly tipsy.</p><p>“They know they're being hustled, yes?” Tristan asked.</p><p>“Their own fault if they don’t,” Leo responded. “It’s only tobacco anyway. Eoin’s not a shark with the gen pop. Hey, Lewison!”</p><p>The Vert’s attention snapped their direction at Leo’s raised voice, and he jerked his chin in acknowledgment; excused himself from the group as he picked up his drink, dropped his dart case into his hip pocket, and crossed to their table.</p><p>“Sirs,” he nodded, smiling easily as he popped off a salute.</p><p>“Congratulations on the promotion, Captain,” Tristan offered, standing to return the gesture, then shake Eoin’s hand. “Sorry I missed the revels.”</p><p>“No harm, Sir,” the other man shrugged. “We just came here, in the end. But thank you.” He released Tristan’s grip. “How’s life at The Foundry?”</p><p>There was no sense circling the barn before going in. As brotherly as the Vert tended to be, Eoin was still showing them a courtesy in electing to talk shop with his superiors while off duty.</p><p>“Funny you should ask,” Tristan answered with a wry grin, resuming his seat and motioning Eoin to pull up a chair. “Apparently, the Money wants to shut us down.”</p><p>The captain did as instructed, crossing an ankle over a knee. “Well, shit,” he deadpanned. “There goes <em> that </em> bet.”</p><p>Tristan heard Leo snort back a laugh, and dropped his chin with a chuckle of his own. He’d be insulted that the guys had a pool going on how long the Vert/SA JTF would last, only had he known to throw in, he’d have been out three years ago.</p><p>“I might be able to get Command to belay the order,” Tristan resumed, attention shifting back to Eoin, “if I can give them due cause.”</p><p>The captain’s eyes barely flicked to Leo before he was offering up, “There’s something weird going on in Garnath.”</p><p>“So I’ve been told.” Tristan eased back in his chair, prompting, “Would love to hear more, if you have the time.”</p><p>Eoin tilted his head thoughtfully, glanced back at his group as he sipped his pint. “It’s not a <em> long </em> story,” he eventually replied. “But it led to questions we couldn’t answer.”</p><p>Tristan glanced at Leo, whose face wrinkled into a <em> He ain’t lying </em> expression in return, and felt his curiosity rising — then paused a moment to give his oldest friend a <em> You’re not fucking with me, right? </em> look; was mollified when the major returned it with a genuine shake of his head, and a rueful huff.</p><p>“Just .. listen,” Leo advised, folding his arms and slumping back in his seat.</p><p>So Tristan did. And after about fifteen minutes of give-and-take, what he’d boiled it down to was this:</p><p>Forty-eight hours earlier, Bravo Squad had been scouting for possible training locations in the Vale of Garnath when they encountered an area - approximately two-hundred meters long by their rough estimation, half that across its midpoint and tapering at the ends - that not one of their mounts would cross into (their refusal to do so was what had inspired Eoin to split the team up and map it out to begin with). There was no visual demarcation between it and the surrounding area, but when the men entered on foot to examine further, there appeared to be a complete lack of fauna. In fact, except for the wind in the trees, there was no sound at all beyond what they themselves made, and even that seemed muted by the absence of anything else. It was-</p><p>“-eerie, to be honest,” Eoin wrapped up. “But we inspected it as thoroughly as we could. Didn’t find anything out of the ordinary beyond the absence of ambient lifesigns, though. So we mounted back up and returned to base, all agreeing it was just .. weird.”</p><p>The younger Vert fell into silence, taking a long swallow of his neglected pint as he completed his informal report. Tristan mulled the information over before focusing on Leo.</p><p>“Certainly sounds worth investigating, at the very least,” Tristan conceded with a small nod. The major looked mildly smug as he lifted his own drink, but refrained from comment. Tristan looked to Eoin, asking, “Where was this, exactly?”</p><p>“Out past Yeoman’s Ferry,” the captain replied. “About two klicks northwest, just before the gulch.”</p><p>Tristan’s hope shrank a little. He didn’t know the area well, but was familiar enough to realize it wasn’t close to much of any importance. Which meant he’d need more than ‘it felt weird’ to get a stay of execution. Which meant sending in a research team. ASAFP, since time felt limited.</p><p>But it was something. Tristan turned to Leo.</p><p>“Any chance I can borrow Bravo for a few hours, tomorrow?” he asked. </p><p>His friend lifted one shoulder with a slanted grin. “Whatever you need,” he said. “Told you. I like having a rack to myself for a change.”</p><p>It was so low Tristan almost missed it, but,</p><p>“That’s not how <em> I </em> saw it,” Eoin muttered into his mug.</p><p>Tristan crowed. Leo’s gaze dropped, and his neck immediately flushed beneath his collar.</p><p>“And I thought <em> Avery </em> was bad,” he grumbled.</p><p>“Aww, Sir,” Eoin said, placing a hand to his heart as he stared into his empty pint. “I’m touched.”</p><p>“You’re <em> something</em>,” Leo sniped back with a smirk, a good-natured jibe. He followed it up by jutting his chin toward the Rangers still at the dart board, expression smoothing. “We don’t mean to keep you, Captain. I know it’s your day off.”</p><p>Eoin nodded, accepting the dismissal kindly. “Thank you, Sir.” He shifted his gaze to Tristan as he stood, adding, “Not that we wouldn’t want you back, Colonel, but it’s been very nice to have a penlight that works across the GC. So I hope it helps.”</p><p>“Thank you, Eoin,” Tristan nodded, holding up a fist. The captain tapped his own against it in casual farewell, repeated the same gesture with Leo, and returned to his party.</p><p>“He’s really stepped up his game,” Leo commented, watching him go.</p><p>“Yeoman’s Ferry,” Tristan replied, tone impressed. “I haven’t thought about drilling out there in <em> decades</em>.”</p><p>“Apparently, he’s been reviewing some of the old ARL’s in his down time.” Leo paused, then amended wryly, “And by ‘some’, I might mean ‘all’.”</p><p>Tristan laughed lightly. Given Eoin’s character, this wasn’t surprising to hear. Still, it didn’t hurt to ask, “Hunting, or consuming?”</p><p>“Oh, <em> definitely </em> consuming,” Leo advised, almost airily. “But don’t be shocked if certain stories start making the rotation again. He asked me about the Hardlyworth Op the other day, which means he’s found some of <em> our </em> early stuff.”</p><p>Tristan cringed slightly around a chuckled, “Oh, shit.”</p><p>“Sorry, sugar,” Leo drawled into his pint. “I sheltered the kids as best I could.”</p><p>It was an opening that brought Tristan back to something Eoin had said, and he took it.</p><p>“Margie ok with you still sweet-talking other people?”</p><p>The briefest hesitation as Leo swallowed, then,</p><p>“Six older brothers, T,” he replied. “She understands the dynamic better than most.”</p><p>Tristan smiled. “So things are going well?”</p><p>There was an actual pause then as the major set his mug down, and cast his gaze into it — not heavy, not doubt; light, infinite, with a wisp of a smile pulling on his lips. It was all the answer Tristan needed. He clasped his oldest friend’s shoulder.</p><p>“I’m happy for you, Leo.”</p><p>After a moment, Leo’s knee bumped against his under the table. “Thanks.”</p><p>“Probably shouldn’t happen again, though,” he added, ever the CO.</p><p>Leo tilted his head away, smirking even while chided. “It won’t.”</p><p>With a small squeeze, Tristan let go and reached for his pint, determined to close out the heavier conversation before moving on to lighter topics.</p><p>“As for this thing in Garnath,” he resumed, “You’re right. I might be able to use it to stave off a disband order, but Command will want actionable information in-hand before petitioning the King, so here’s what I’m thinking…”</p><hr/><p>The following day, Tristan escorted a small selection of his task force to Central, where they met up with Bravo and took a Gate to Yeoman’s Ferry. From there, Eoin led them to the anomaly.</p><p>It was exactly as the captain had described. One moment, Vega was striding along comfortably at a steady trot; the next she was sucking back and locking her knees in hard refusal, something she’d never done in all their years of partnership. Tristan was pitched forward in the saddle, hands slipping far up the mare’s neck before grabbing a handful of her mane stopped his forward momentum, and prevented him from crashing over her shoulder.</p><p>He righted himself to discover they’d become surrounded by the rest of the party, all grouped up in a crush of mildly-panicked horseflesh. Tristan carefully backed Vega out of the fray, using her hindquarters to forge a path and keeping her head safe. Once clear, he let her halt and gave her neck a reassuring stroke; felt her relax beneath his seat, and heave a sigh.</p><p>It took a moment for the scrum to disperse, at which point they all dismounted and installed a quick picket line. Most of them began to set up base camp with seamless efficiency, while the rest worked to establish gridlines for preliminary sample collection. At a nod to Eoin, Tristan followed the Bravo leader and a couple of his team deeper into the zone.</p><p>It didn't take long to experience what the captain had been trying to convey at The Hill. They’d moved twenty yards, tops, when it hit him.</p><p>To say Tristan was familiar with the noises that came associated with these surroundings, the constant murmurations of a healthy woodland ecosystem, would be a gross understatement. Any parts of his childhood not spent at Willow Trace had been passed at Avens Rest, which was nested in the heart of Arden Forest. He’d been an ARMA Cadet, an Arden Ranger, a Rowan Vert; passed countless hours and days and months over the seventy-something years of his life in roving these seemingly ceaseless acres. Its sounds were as constant in the background of his life as his own heartbeat.</p><p>The moment he realized <em> they weren’t there </em> was agonizing on an almost spiritual level. The abnormality of it made his skin crawl.</p><p>From the corner of his eye, he saw Eoin nod sagely.</p><p>“Exactly,” the captain said, and his voice sounded muffled, as though spoken through a bell jar. “Weird.”</p><p>“Has it changed, since you first found it?” Tristan asked. His words, delivered in the usual intonation, fell flat and disappeared into the dead air almost as soon as he spoke them.</p><p>“No, Sir,” Eoin shook his head. “At least, not in any way I can tell.”</p><p>Tristan pursed his lips, pulled off a glove and ran one palm up the bark of a nearby oak, the rough texture oddly cool under his touch. He was torn between the ember of hope that this might be enough to keep his JTF off the chopping block a bit longer, and the niggling worry that their lucky discovery could <em> actually </em> be the indication of something more sinister.</p><p>They returned to camp, where Avery was pleased to confirm that the estimated size of the anomaly was pretty close to actual, and it was good to see Bravo hadn’t gone to shit without him. Eoin took the backhanded compliment as it was meant: with good spirits, then chivvying about when Ave’s new tac gear was going to become standard issue for the rest of them to play around in. There followed a chain of pressing fists, a series of hasty but friendly good-byes all around, and then Saffron provided a Gate to transport Bravo back to Central.</p><p>“Is there anything I can take back with me, now?” Tristan asked as Saffron turned to him, readying a Gate to The Foundry. Over her shoulder, he saw Avery shake his head.</p><p>“We’ll keep you posted,” Saffron replied. Her hands moved out in a complex gesture, and the Gate sizzled to life. Tristan released Vega from the picket.</p><p>“Three days,” he reminded them as he stepped through, towing the mare along. “Get me as much as you can. We’re all at your disposal.”</p><p>When he turned back, Avery looked delightedly manic, and Saffron was rolling her eyes.</p><p>“Don’t tell him <em> that</em>, Tristan,” she scolded. “You <em> know </em> he’ll only take it as a challenge.”</p><p>The two exchanged wry smiles before Saffron closed the Gate between them.</p><p>The yard was quiet, the rest of the unit out running drills or holed up in the Lab with Shard. Tristan led Vega into the barn, and made sure she was comfortable in one of the tie stalls before entering the office; gave Cooper a hearty pat as he took a seat at his desk. The heeler stretched out next to his left foot, chin resting on his boot and doleful eyes turned up before closing to resume his nap. Tristan pulled out his current Action Report Log, flipped to a fresh sheet, and began jotting down his preliminary assessment of the situation in Garnath.</p><p>That disquieting sensation from inside the anomaly was still hovering under his skin, so it took a moment to register that Shard was standing in the threshold between office and barn. How long she’d been observing him, he could not say, but he did not look up right away when he noticed. Only braced himself for her inevitable, acerbic bark about something ridic-</p><p>“I do not want this unit disbanded.”</p><p>Her tone was flat and frank, but atypically far from biting. Tristan froze, momentarily stunned, then slowly curled upright from his writing hunch, and swiveled in his seat to face her.</p><p>“Neither do I,” he confessed, setting his pen down to signal he was giving her his full attention. Because if <em> this </em> was what it took to get her to actually initiate a conversation with him, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity by multitasking.</p><p>They stared at one-another for a calculating beat. Then she crossed to his desk, pulled out the chair across from him, and settled into it.</p><p>“Tell me about Garnath,” she prompted.</p><p>So he did. Watched her absorb and file away the information as he dispensed it, and inevitably come to the same conclusion he had.</p><p>“I agree on research,” she said, which he knew was as close to a ‘good job’ as he was going to get. “I will dedicate the northwest quarter of the Lab to its efforts.”</p><p>Again, Tristan felt a little off-center by the unexpected allyship-</p><p>-but then Shard made a face that was pure annoyance for his delayed response, and the world shifted to rights once more as she abruptly stood and departed.</p><p>Tristan picked up his pen and resumed writing, chuckling wryly at the fact that her hostility had become a bizarre sort of comfort to him.</p><hr/><p>For once, Saffron gave their joint report alone. Avery had barely made it through a shower and into clean clothes before flopping across his rack in an exhausted sprawl.</p><p>The malevolence of their findings was generally inconclusive, but they knew for certain now that it was mystical in nature, and that it did not originate in Garnath. The energy signature powering it, Saffron explained, was ‘too indistinct to be local’.</p><p>When Tristan presented his unit’s findings to Command later that afternoon, Julian agreed to continue research and observation ‘for the time being’. So the colonel set up a steady rotation between his three teams, sending each out for a few days at a time with instructions to keep an eye on it, collect periodic samples, and report any changes.</p><p>The Graves had nothing new to say about the anomaly a week later, after their first visit as part of Team Three. Instead, they delivered a detailed pitch for a 'hypothetically trump-based geolocation system’ which soared well over Tristan’s head, but inspired Shard to immediately vanish into the Lab with the pair of them for more than two days. He was just beginning to worry about their extended absence when they finally emerged, mid-afternoon on day three: the young men whooping victoriously and exchanging congratulatory shove-hugs, and Shard looking almost decadent in her smugness behind them.</p><p>Saffron, recently returned with Team One after being relieved by Team Two, pulled up short on her way to the Lab to report in, asking,</p><p>
  <em>“What did you do?”</em>
</p><p>There was something between horror and awe in her delivery, and everyone who’d been scattered around the lawn slowly migrated into a huddle of curiosity behind her and Avery, their attention effectively grabbed by the Graves’ jubilant display.</p><p>As answer, Shard reached into one of her thigh pockets and pulled out a small handful of what looked like pearls.</p><p>“It requires triangulation,” she began, passing them over to Gray, who shared a gleeful grin with Bailey before setting off at a jog around the yard.</p><p>Tristan moved nearer Shard, and watched along with the others as the young man wove in and out of the trees, occasionally muttering a word before tossing one of the pearls up into the air, where it would hang suspended at its apex. Sometimes he pitched them high, sometimes they were a careless toss, but they were roughly equidistant every ten yards or so. When he’d completed a rough circle, he trotted toward the gathering, and launched one more directly above before returning the rest to his CO.</p><p>Shard dropped them back into their pocket, then reached into one of her belt pouches (and for someone who’d been so resistant to changing the SA’s uniforms, Tristan thought, she sure had adapted well), producing the multi-facetted palm-sized sphere she used to communicate with her team. She darted Tristan a quick glance, then began to roll it between her fingers in a complex series of motions.</p><p>“The idea is to provide a real-time mapping system,” the First Acolyte continued, loud enough to carry across the group. “Something that recon can set up, which we can then use to monitor a situation from a distance.”</p><p>The sphere came to rest in one palm, where it unfolded itself into a flat, vaguely oblong tablet. After a beat, its surface rippled to display a faded, three-dimensional rendering of their current scene: trees, structures, occupants-</p><p>The unit pressed forward as one, enthralled; made scattered noises of shock and amazement as, in the projection, a cluster of red and green dots crowded together. Then Bailey darted off, and a lone green speck disappeared from the edge of the map, followed by a solitary red one as Gray dashed after him to prove the point.</p><p>The concept of ‘remote surveillance’ was not completely foreign to him. There’d been conversations with Aunna over the years where the term had come up, been sufficiently explained, then rejected out-of-hand because of the lack of technological potential and infrastructure such an undertaking seemed to require.</p><p>But like the first time he’d seen Shard’s lamp, Tristan’s tactical brain spun into high gear — uses and advantages unfurled so fast it was a little dizzying because <em> this</em>? <em> This </em> was <em> huge</em>.</p><p>“We should field test it in Garnath,” he said.</p><p>Shard took hold of the edge of the map and passed it to Saffron, who accepted with supreme reverence.</p><p>“I agree,” she replied. Then, “It will take me as much time to re-enchant a Scrye as it does to make a new one,” she advised her XO. “If any of them are sentimental, let me know.”</p><p>Saf understood a dismissal when she heard it, and she gave her CO a small nod before using the map to lure the rest of the gathering away. Tristan hung back however, watching them collectively marvel over what would likely become the newest addition to their kit. He wanted to effuse a bit himself, because it truly was amazing. Only Shard didn’t do praise, and honestly she didn’t need it — she knew she was good. If someone wanted her to know they were impressed by something she’d done, they’d ask pertinent questions.</p><p>He pointed idly toward one of the hovering markers. “How long do they stay?”</p><p>“They've successfully tested at eight hours,” she responded. “With a different rack, they may stretch to twelve.”</p><p>“Anything I can requisition from the Quartermaster?” he offered.</p><p>She shook her head. “We can alcheme something here.”</p><p>Tristan nodded, attention drawn away from Saffron and out toward where the Graves were reappearing from the treeline, chatting in typically animated fashion as they made their way toward the barracks.</p><p>“If that boy had a spark of magic in him, I’d steal him from you,” Shard decreed, turning back toward the Lab.</p><p>Tristan barked an involuntary laugh, and returned to his office.</p><hr/><p>The unit coined them Bugs. Supposedly because the activating incantation sounded like the caster was buzzing at them, but possibly also because Avery had been thumbing through the copy of <em> 1984 </em> that Aunna sent after Tristan had told her about them. (She’d scrawled <em> When Eric wants to link the JoJ to your bugs, don’t say I didn’t warn you. XxXx </em> across the inside cover.)</p><p>Installation at Garnath was not without complications — there was some finagling involved when it turned out their spellwork deteriorated at twice the rate inside the anomaly, and required nearly three times the number to cover the same area of effect. That was piecework that could be handled by an on-site team though, so they continued rotations as they were and made the most of their field-testing time while they still had it.</p><p>For Tristan, news that Corwin had escaped Amber’s dungeons came in the form of a trump call from Command, dispatching him and Shard immediately to assist Colonel Wilkes of the Kingsguard with forensics. Collectively, they briefed their XOs and left them in charge, then took a Gate to the courtyard of Amber Castle. The place was a slurry of activity, and their appearance was only passingly noted. They wove their way up the stairs, across the Great Hall, and into the corridor that passed behind it. Tristan shared a nod with the guards posted at the top of the downward-slanting stairs, and reached for his trump pouch as he descended.</p><p>“That thing is archaic,” Shard commented.</p><p>“It gets the job done,” he retorted, thumbing to his sister’s card; palming it before returning the rest to their place.</p><p>Shard snorted as she squeezed herself past him, and continued down at a brisker clip. He paused a moment to reach out for Aunna.</p><p>“What the fuck, Tristan!” She looked slightly manic, tapping her left temple with two fingers, eyes blown wide. “It’s like Grand Central Station up here right now!”</p><p>He grimaced, and offered up an apologetic, “Welcome back to the loop?”</p><p>“<em>Fuck </em> the loop!”</p><p>Tristan laughed, because there was no anger in her words, only bemused frustration. The connection established, he resumed his descent toward the dungeons.</p><p>“Are you headed down there?” she asked. Tristan nodded.</p><p>“Forensic assistance,” he supplied. “You?”</p><p>“I’ve been ordered to report any contact, but that’s it.” She was also walking, albeit idly. “They <em> heavily </em> implied they think he’ll contact me, though.”</p><p>Tristan pondered that a moment. “Do <em> you</em>?”</p><p>She shrugged. Opened her mouth. Closed it again. Something fleeting made its way through the contact — betrayal? Hurt?</p><p>“Rozenberg!”</p><p>Shard’s hail up the stairwell was thunderous, making him cringe. Even though she wouldn’t have heard it, his reaction was cue enough, and Aunna seized on it as a ready escape.</p><p>“Get back to work, Colonel,” she smirked. Her eyes flicked past his shoulder, as though spotting something beyond his illusion on her end. “I don't <em>expect</em> him to reach out, but I promise I’ll report if he does.”</p><p>He accepted that arrangement, and told her he’d call on her birthday. She wished him good hunting as he signed off. He tucked her trump back into his pouch when he reached the landing; ignored Shard’s rolled-eye head-shake as he headed toward the guard station.</p><p>She fell in behind him. “But does it have to be so bulky?”</p><p>“If I don’t want to leave any out, it does.” Again, Tristan traded nods with the men posted outside the dungeon entrance before passing by. “Not all of us can pull off six thousand pockets.”</p><p>Shard made a derisive sound, muttered ‘That’s ridiculous’, and immediately peeled off to the open door on the left as they entered the antechamber.</p><p>Tristan paused for a moment to take in his surroundings. He did not make a habit of deluding himself - he knew his uncle had been imprisoned down here since Eric’s coronation, and not without reason - but there was a disconnect in his head between the idea and the reality that never failed to check him when confronted by it. That a man had been confined here, for four years, with little to no contact with the outside world would always strike him as inhumane. Still, this level was substantially less dank and cavernous than the lower ones, so at least he’d have been marginally comfortable, given his circumstances.</p><p>He located Colonel Wilkes, who took their arrival in stride, but not without a small amount of bitterness at being co-opted by an outside task force in what was effectively his own jurisdiction. Tristan focused on smoothing things over with him, and listened to his debrief while Shard poked around Corwin’s chamber (cell was too small a word; these things were practically palatial compared to those down below). Eventually enough goodwill was established that he felt he could join her, and bring her up to speed.</p><p>“He was here at bedcheck last night,” Tristan relayed as he approached. “Night Watch reported him accounted for at one, three, and five; but at breakfast he didn’t respond. Which means sometime between oh-five and oh-six-hundred, he managed to find his way out of a locked room and past a couple dozen guards without alerting a soul.”</p><p>Shard was staring at the wall behind the door, head tilted to the side, arms folded across her armoured chest, looking surly. Her eyes flitted his way when he entered, then resumed their ponderous glare. He took up a position next to her, curiosity drawing him in. The stone wall was covered in indiscriminate scratches, as though someone had been using it as target practice with a dull blade. He shifted his gaze from it, to her, and back again.</p><p>“What am I missing?” he asked.</p><p>In response, Shard took a step closer, and ran her fingertips across the hewn surface. Closed her eyes in deep concentration, and rested her right temple against the rock, frowning.</p><p>“There’s .. something.”</p><p>Hey eyes popped open, and she sneered — a wicked, darkly delighted thing. Her hand caressed the stone as she pressed away from it, and muttered a word before slapping her palm to the largest patch of scratchwork.</p><p>The strike was like lighting a fuse. Sizzles of prismatic light shot along the wall from the point of impact, linking the seemingly random marks into swoops and cuts and jagged crosshatch to form a roughly sketched image of the lighthouse at Cabra.</p><p>Tristan blinked widely as Shard backed up to stand next to him.</p><p>“Is that..?” He could already feel the answer, but had to ask, “Is that a <em> trump</em>?”</p><p>Shard nodded, slow and deliberate.</p><p>“Genius,” she murmured.</p><hr/><p>There’d been no sign of Corwin at Cabra. Just a very grumpy Keeper Jopin, bitter that someone had taken his boat.</p><p>Caine was alerted, and Northfleet was deployed along the Sea Paths to Deig’a, Murn, and Malwain, the three most likely routes out of Amber Corwin would have taken from there. With several hours head start though, and the cover of early morning fishermen to boot, the odds of finding him before he disappeared into Shadow were slim. After a week the manhunt was called off, and they were left with the standing order to immediately report any contact with the fugitive prince to Command.</p><p>Shard took a few personal days to study the fading remnants of the trump sketch Corwin had left behind, which prompted Tristan to give the entire unit an impromptu furlough to celebrate Midsommer. He went to Avens Rest for the weekend and dismissed the minimal staff on arrival, desperate for a little solitude after so much camaraderie. He showered and ate a quick, self-made meal, then settled on the veranda outside his suite with Cooper and a beer to call Aunna, as promised.</p><p>“Hey, sis,” he opened. “Seventy-six, huh?”</p><p>“Fuck <em> all </em>the way off,” she responded, but with such genuinely lighthearted humor he was actually taken back a bit.</p><p>They chatted casually for a while. She told him about a couple of the horses she was working with. He told her about Eoin busting Leo for having a girlfriend in his barracks overnight. She asked about the Bugs, and he let slip that they were being field-tested in Garnath-</p><p>She kept periodically flinching, though. It had become hilariously distracting.</p><p>“Are you ok?” Tristan cut himself off to ask.</p><p>“Give me a second,” she bit back, taking a step to the left and reaching out. “Why are you calling the barn phone?” she asked when she’d snatched the receiver off the wall. Pause, a glance at her wristwatch, then, “I don’t know, an hour maybe? I’m-” Another pause, and her expression went a little glassy, and the smirk that started to tug her lips was tucked behind a fist before she told the handset, decisively, “I’ll be up in ten.”</p><p>Aunna lowered the receiver, and looked at Tristan.</p><p>“Anyway,” he resumed, “I won’t keep you. Happy birthday and all that-”</p><p>“No, no,” she cut in. “What were you saying about Garnath?”</p><p>“-and remember,” he continued as though she were not speaking. He held up two fingers, slightly curled inward. “Size of a walnut, and do not spare the lube.”</p><p>She schooled her expression into the flattest, most unimpressed stare...</p><p>Tristan shrugged, unrepentant. Yeah, it was petty sibling shitslinging, but he’d been waiting <em> so long </em>for the opportunity to call her out like this that, given the chance, he wasn’t about to pass it up. Would double down in fact, by adding,</p><p>“He’ll thank you.”</p><p>Tristan could practically see the retort forming behind Aunna’s eyes, but she bit it back and flipped him a two-fingered salute instead as she hung up the receiver. He laughed, and ended the contact.</p><hr/><p>Later that evening, Major Leo Westwood, Lord Balfax, asked Dr. Margorie Mills, EVP, to be his wife. She said ‘yes’, with great enthusiasm, then kicked all of their asses at billiards.</p><p>Tristan got a room in Southport, after. Let himself become an uncomplicated body beneath a First Officer from the Begman Royal Navy, with arms like steel cables and shoulders for days.</p><p>Later still, Tristan would reflect on that weekend - the last truly peaceful one he’d have for almost a decade - and wonder:</p><p>If he’d known then what he knew now, would he have enjoyed himself more? Or less?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Garnath was no longer an isolated phenomenon.</p><p>Reports of non-native creatures began trickling in from throughout the Golden Circle — odd and off-putting, but mostly small; more nuisance than anything, yet wreaking a bit of havoc with the locals. For almost a fortnight, Command dispatched Rangers daily with orders to locate, investigate, and patrol the dead zone that inevitably existed at the epicenter of each claim; at which point Tristan would send out one of his JTF to set up surveillance, and add the occurrence to his growing list of mild concerns. Rinse, repeat.</p><p>But then Juniper Cove in Begma was being ‘terrorized’ by flocks of fire lizards; citizens of Følswyn, Murn were forced to evacuate after being overrun by screeching voles; and the Deiga’n government was requesting assistance to reclaim Port Zoral from a colony of scarabs the size of ratters, which had devoured several warehouses full of supplies, and apparently shat acid in self defense.</p><p>At first it was fascinating, the array of creatures that came their way for research, and anyone not camped out at Garnath was morbidly eager to process samples as they were delivered-</p><p>(“Alright, Gray. Is this a feeding appendage, or should I be concerned for the female of the species?”</p><p>“It’s narrow-minded to think having a cock would preclude it from <em> also </em> being ‘the female of the species’, B.”</p><p>“Fair point. Still though…”)</p><p>-but when the front lawn of The Foundry began to resemble a poor man's taxidermy, with stacks upon stacks of carcasses awaiting attention, the novelty of it all wore off.</p><p>Life became a series of days filled with rotting meat and rank air; of teams requesting to stay out on rotation longer to delay dissection duty; of Tristan shuddering to think what the Lab must be like because even out in the open it was fucking <em> nauseating</em>, and filter masks could do nothing about the lingering smell that seeped into every porous surface. Even Cooper took to giving the area a wide berth, and that dog <em> never </em> passed up exploring an exciting new stink.</p><p>Eventually it got to be so overwhelming that an environmental dome was erected over the processing station - which made it look like some sort of macabre snow globe, but vastly reduced the cloying stench from ‘gag-inducing’ to ‘tolerably unpleasant’ - and something about watching it go up had Tristan thinking <em> Wouldn’t it be nice if</em>-</p><p>His brain did that thing — where it latched onto a new idea and assessed its tactical value, then ran through a list of advantages a country yard long-</p><p>Someone pawed, then tugged distractedly at his left sleeve. Tristan blinked and looked over. Found Bailey gawking at the frosted dome with that sunrise behind his wide eyes, and was overcome by a sudden rush of pride (in himself for being right, in Bailey for consistently proving it) along with a swell of affection that went deeper than the inherent fraternity of the Rowan Vert; tilted toward something protective, almost paternal.</p><p>“Think you and Gray can figure out a wearable version of that?” he asked.</p><p>Bailey’s fingers stopped tugging; balled into a loose fist instead, then pounded lightly against his CO’s bicep in affirmation.</p><p>“Have at it, son,” Tristan concluded with a smile. “Good hunting.”</p><p>The young lieutenant spun away without a word, and made a beeline for the Lab; slammed on the brakes when his trajectory sent him on a collision course with Shard, who had just exited the ancillary building with purpose. Tristan heard him mutter an apology, which the woman acknowledged with a low hum as they wove around each-other, and continued on their respective paths.</p><p>“There’s been a development,” she said as she approached.</p><p>Tristan was opening his mouth to reply when he felt a call coming in, and lifted a finger to indicate this. She halted a few steps away and folded her arms, looking impatient and surly.</p><p>“Sir,” he said as the connection was established.</p><p>“Corwin has made contact,” Julian replied. “He claims to have a compound for gunpowder that works in Amber, and is threatening to come take the throne with it.”</p><p>Tristan jolted slightly, and darted a look past his father’s illusion to Shard. “Do we believe him, Sir?”</p><p>“Debatable. But more to the point, it’s a lead on his whereabouts.”</p><p>“Yessir,” Tristan nodded. “What are your orders.”</p><p>“I’m sending you to investigate the validity of this threat, and to hopefully confirm his location. However,” and here his father’s expression took on its sternest, most no-nonsense manifestation, “if you <em> do </em> see Corwin, you are to avoid interacting with him At All Costs.”</p><p>The order was somewhat baffling, considering a Vert’s primary function. He couldn’t quite keep the curious lilt from his voice when he said, “Sir?”</p><p>“No contact, Colonel,” Julian reinforced. “We just want to know where he is. We’ll worry about collecting him later, when we’ve determined if this ‘gunpowder’ is an actual threat or not.”</p><p>Again, Tristan nodded. “Yessir.” He recapped, “Collect samples, avoid contact.”</p><p>With that, they exchanged quick salutes, and the call was dropped. Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose a moment, then focused his attention on Shard.</p><p>“I’m guessing you have your own instructions from Sage Hall?” he asked her. She actually huffed out a low laugh, and closed the distance between them.</p><p>“He sent the message by courier,” she replied, curling one arm behind her back and producing a dismembered crow’s wing. “If I have someone to manipulate Shadow, I can locate its origin with this.”</p><p>“I won’t shine you on, Shard.” Tristan shook his head slightly, but didn’t shy away from the admission, “I don’t often travel outside the GC. It’ll probably be a bit like the blind leading the blind.”</p><p>“Only one way to know,” she contended, turning the severed limb over under her gaze.</p><p>She ran her fingers across the feathers, and muttered something in the poetically guttural language she shared with Saffron. The filaments sparked, bright and fine, before fading to a subtle luminosity. She held it out to him. After the barest hesitation, he took it. A shiver ran up his arm, icy and electric. Shard watched the gooseflesh form in its wake, the hairs on his forearm rising, and gave a satisfied nod.</p><p>“You feel that, then,” she confirmed. “Good. Let me know when it stops.”</p><p>Tristan frowned at the item in his grip with mild repulsion. It was still a bit warm. “Do I have to hold it the whole time?”</p><p>Shard cast an equally weary look at the newly-erected dome to her right. “Unfortunately.”</p><p>He sighed. Then, “Do I have time to put on the rest of my tac gear?”</p><p>She snorted. “Don’t be obtuse.” Her gaze dragged around the yard, landing on a couple of Vert resupplying their kits nearby. “We should probably bring backup as well, since we’re likely to be distracted by navigating.”</p><p>Tristan followed her attention, and nodded as she pivoted back toward the Lab.</p><p>“Ten minutes then,” he told her retreating form, and made a small, hailing motion to Darnell and Rowe as he headed for the barn.</p><hr/><p>Tristan brought the Pattern’s Image to bear at the Crixa, and grudgingly took the wing from his saddlebag. When he did, the tingle in his arm drew him toward the Path to Deig’a, like a compass pulling north. He indicated as much with a tilt of his head, and nudged Vega in the correct direction.</p><p>“But does it have to be the whole wing?” he asked. “We can’t just use a feather or two?”</p><p>“I’d have preferred the intact specimen,” Shard rebutted. “Instead, we got what remained after others had taken their cut. Which is short-sighted but nothing we can rectify now, so kindly get over it, m’Lord.”</p><hr/><p>The way it worked was this:</p><p>Occasionally, he got an impulse to make an adjustment - subtle, subconscious - and he’d tweak a treeline; create a river; remove a hillcrest. When those impulses faded off, or became harder to detect, he’d pass the appendage over to Shard, who would repeat her incantation and hand it back, and he’d make another set of changes…</p><p>Tristan didn’t care for it, though. Not because of the indicator (honestly, he’d probably handled worse items for less important reasons over his lifetime), but because Shadow <em> never </em> sat right to him. It felt raw, unfinished; colours muted, or coated in dust. Sometimes its afterimages lingered like a lie that he suspected, but could not prove. And while being guided by a dismembered courier was certainly a new slant, it did nothing to improve his enjoyment of the experience.</p><p>When he felt they’d reached the end of the line, he was more than happy to pass the wing over to Shard for a final time, and release the Image. The world lost some of its fuzzy edge when he did, but left his entourage standing out sharply against it, which he decided was actually pretty handy since it’d certainly make detecting Corwin easier — only it stood to reason the effect <em> also </em> ruled out any of them sneaking in under disguise, which was unfortunate, but hardly catastrophic.</p><p>Tristan gestured to dismount, and wordlessly directed the other two Vert to clear the area while he made a quick survey of their terminus. They were on a small rise overlooking a block of narrow buildings, secured behind a double-barrier of chain link fence topped in coils of barbed wire. By the slant of the sun it was late afternoon, closing in on evening, and long shadows had shielded their appearance. But while their vantage had some cover in the form of hollowed-out buildings similar to those below, the space between was wide open territory for the guard tower rising far above the compound’s epicenter. Shard narrowed her eyes at it as she stepped up beside him.</p><p>“That’s it?” she asked, reaching into one of her many pockets.</p><p>“Appears so,” Tristan nodded. “Thoughts?”</p><p>She directed a crooked sneer toward the complex, and produced a handful of Bugs; pondered them in her cupped palm a moment, as though weighing their number. She deigned to invite his input with a glance, and if she thought they’d work in this place then using them made sense, so he jerked his chin to the affirmative. Shard brought her fist to her lips, muttered the incantation, then flung her wrist as though tossing dice. The granules scattered on a false breeze, and drifted away.</p><p>Tristan checked in with Darnell and Rowe while she activated her Scrye, and confirmed the area was abandoned. They suggested holding up in the southernmost building, which was open enough to comfortably include their mounts, and offered the clearest sightlines by virtue of having a second storey. Tristan gave the go-ahead, and passed Vega over with the other horses.</p><p>“We square?” he asked Shard as the men departed. She nodded over the tablet, and made a quick gesture.</p><p>“Successful deployment.”</p><p>Part of the image re-focused and expanded under her hand, zooming in on a section near the heart of the compound, and Tristan was struck for a moment at how much the device had evolved since its inception a few months ago. His tactical curiosity wanted to ask how they’d overcome the deterioration factor he’d kept hearing about after ‘structural scanning’ had been introduced-</p><p>-but then the lack of something caught his full attention.</p><p>“That tower is unmanned,” he said. In fact, “<em>Most </em> of the place is.”</p><p>His tone was openly baffled. Shard made an equally disgruntled sound beside him. They both lifted their attention from the Scrye to the actual view.</p><p>“I count maybe thirty people,” she affirmed, raising an arm to indicate the largest building. “Primarily there.”</p><p>Tristan rested his hands on his hips, pondering the scene with a stern tightness to his jaw because that logic didn’t track <em> at all</em>. Why send a threat of violence, knowing there was a chance it could be traced back to its source, then leave such a small population behind to guard it?</p><p>Unless it was a trap, in which case-</p><p>“What are the odds,” he posited, “that whatever Corwin has manning this station is something we haven’t catalogued?”</p><p>He felt Shard straighten beside him, and cast her a sidelong glance; watched her consider that with a genuine expression of interest, then tilt her head at the tablet and begin a complex set of hand gestures. After a few moments the display flared like a beacon in her grip, and she bit out what was obviously a curse, spinning away from the compound with fingers flying as she hastily made corrections until the all-encompassing glow had shrunk into several smaller, more individualized clusters of movement, scattered throughout the other buildings.</p><p>“What happened, there?” Tristan ventured, managing to keep the humor from his voice.</p><p>“I opened the parameters too wide,” she grumbled, as though scolding herself with the admission.</p><p>He breezed past it. “And what am I looking at now?”</p><p>“Anything larger than a housecat.”</p><p>The colonel nodded. While still not quite as populated as he’d expected for a facility of its size, three times the markers meant he felt more confident on its read now, and was prepared to settle in for a bit of active surveillance while he worked up an infiltration strategy.</p><p>“Let’s stake out for now,” he told her, heading toward the building the men had indicated. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll shut down overnight, and we can make a move after dark.”</p><p>“One can hope,” Shard replied distractedly, following along but still making motions over the Scrye.</p><p>Well aware that many of his men still grew fidgety with prolonged exposure to the First Acolyte, Tristan sent the other two Vert upstairs as overwatch when he arrived with her at the bivouac point, returning their relieved ‘yessir’s with a nod while pulling a packet of dried meat from the uncontaminated side of his saddlebag. Canteen in his other hand, he parked himself just below the sill of a window overlooking the compound - where a quick tilt up and back was all it took to settle his need for situational awareness - and chewed thoughtfully on what he suspected was Avery’s latest experimentation in peppered rabbit jerky.</p><p>In his periphery, Shard paced a circuit between the horses and the windows while continuing to poke at her Scrye, occasionally slowing and zooming in on a space before pulling back and resuming stride again. It wasn’t unusual behaviour (countless debriefs over four years had shown him that, unless she was ordered to sit, she generally didn’t) so the constant movement didn’t wind him up quite like it used to. Still made him want to seek a distraction though, so the next time she pivoted he asked,</p><p>“Did you learn how to track in the Holdfény Collective?”</p><p>Shard stiffened, fingers stilling, but did not look up from her tablet. After a small hesitation, her motions resumed. “Did Saffron tell you about that?”</p><p>Tristan shook his head as he drank. He’d put the pieces together on his own a while ago; just hadn’t been given an opening to confirm his completed picture, until her trick with the courier.</p><p>“I’ve been around a while, Shard,” he replied after swallowing, tone low and disarming. “You’re not the first survivor I’ve met.” It was one of the darkest events of the Gheneshan War, the Eradication of the Holdfény Collective. The final swipe of a desperate, cornered beast. “<em>Does </em> mean you’re older than your file implies, though,” he prodded with a grin, trying to lighten the heavy subject into something acknowledged, but having no interest in dwelling on.</p><p>She grumbled something in that amalgam of Weir she shared with her XO, and not for the first time Tristan thought that might be an interesting one to learn: Weir. Aunna spoke a dialect of it fluently, thanks to passing time in Weirholden in her late-teens; maybe he could get her to teach him a few phrases, just to-</p><p>“-ologize for your family’s failure to protect us next, m’Lord?”</p><p>Tristan’s awareness snapped back so fast, the rest of the world disappeared. He felt his face constrict: eyes narrowing, jaw tightening, voice cold.</p><p>“What did you just say to me?”</p><p>Shard had the good sense to balk hard at that. Scuffing to an abrupt halt, she dropped her head, eyes downcast; deflated slightly, then cautiously met his gaze.</p><p>“You’re right,” she offered. “That was unfair of me. I retract the statement, and apologize.”</p><p>And ooohh he wanted to light into her, because that Op almost killed his sister and <em> Fuck This Woman </em> for aiming so low over a good-natured jibe, but now was <em> not </em> the time <em> or </em> the place. So,</p><p>“Topic shelved,” Tristan bit out. After a pause, Shard nodded.</p><p>“Acceptable,” she replied. Another beat, and she left her circuit to join him below the window.</p><p>They ate a cold meal with the tablet on an upturned box between them, and used the flow of foot traffic to suss out which of the half-dozen buildings would most likely contain what they were looking for. They developed a vague idea of its interior layout, and had a brief confrontation when he openly lamented not having eyes on the inside to verify. They watched what appeared to be a shift change just after sunset, but saw nothing at any point that resembled a security patrol. Even after the external floodlights came on, the tower remained unattended, which the pair upstairs glassed to confirm. Nobody else came, and none of the occupants left.</p><p>The whole situation felt .. off.</p><p>So with an abundance of caution, they waited.</p><hr/><p>Shortly before midnight, Tristan got the break he was hoping for. In a pinholing cascade, all but the tower’s external floods (and a scattering of rooftop emergency lights) switched off, and a majority of the markers on the tablet made their way toward what they’d decided were living quarters. There was a small shuffling sound through the ceiling as the Vert upstairs alerted with the change in illumination, and Tristan rapped a distinct, three-strike pattern on the wooden window frame. After a small pause, it was returned with a tiny variance. The pair appeared from the darkness a beat later, and silently joined their COs.</p><p>“We’ll Gate in here.” Tristan indicated a small space between two buildings, just to the south of what they’d determined was the main activity center. “Sweep north, and enter through this door.” His finger slid down the gap and hooked left, into the larger structure. “Assuming our map is accurate-” Shard audibly sucked her teeth. Tristan ploughed on. “-which I acknowledge it is, to within a reasonable margin of error - we <em> should </em> be able to find what we’re looking for here.” His digit came to rest over an open space near the center of the structure. “One Gate in,” he tapped the alleyway, “two Gates out.” He hovered over the large room again, “There to here,” (his finger lifted to indicate their surroundings) “then here to The Foundry. Op Time, allowing for unforeseen encounters, six minutes.”</p><p>Tristan panned his gaze between the three listeners. “Questions?”</p><p>Darnell and Rowe shook their heads, accustomed to his tempo of command, and pointedly did not look at Shard. <em> He </em> did, though. After a moment, she shook her head.</p><p>“It’s sound,” she agreed. Then reached into one of her many belt compartments, and passed him a stub of leather-cased charcoal. “It doesn’t have to be huge; just enough to get through.”</p><p>Tristan accepted and examined it before tucking it into the pocket along his right clavicle. “Anything else?”</p><p>“Keep gravity in mind,” she replied. He slanted her a sideways look.</p><p>“Did you just make a joke?” he asked.</p><p>“No,” she fired back. “It’ll home to me, but if you draw on the floor, you fall from the ceiling. That’s how it works.”</p><p>Tristan looked up the thirty-odd feet above him, then down at the jagged concrete underfoot, and nodded. Point made.</p><p>As Shard took position by the window they had been lingering beneath, the three Vert ran through a sequence of pre-Op checks - tightening and adjusting straps, checking weapons accessibility and draw - before giving each-other a quick once-over, then touching fists in an unspoken ‘all square / five by’ exchange. They huddled up, pistol bows drawn, and Tristan nodded at Shard.</p><p>“Go,” he said.</p><p>Gaze fixed out the window, she flicked her wrist behind her, and a Gate crackled to existence a step to his left. Through the window, Tristan saw the other side manifest simultaneously in the alleyway below. The trio ducked through, and it sizzled shut behind them. The clock in his head started ticking down the seconds.</p><p>And <em> goddess </em> he loved his job. It felt <em> good</em>, being on an Op. There was a calm in it that defined him; a clarity in the role of command that he couldn’t quite replicate anyplace else. Without a word, the trio swept up the alley and through the door as planned; wove their way along empty, dimly-lit halls toward what they hoped was the main storeroom; entered without encounter or alarm, and with four-minutes fifty on the clock.</p><p>It sat wrong, the complete lack of opposition. The fact haunted the back of his mind; made him tense internally, like an uninvited finger running up the spine…</p><p>But he had orders, and an exfil strategy, and apparently a warehouse packed with rows of metal boxes to search, lined up in neat columns across its length. Tristan quickly divided the area into zones, and motioned the other two to spread out - one to the left, one to the right - as he made his own way up the center.</p><p>The cases in his area were full of various firearms — from several styles similar in structure to his pistol bow, to two-handed shoulder-braced ordnance with cartridges as long as his forearm. The colonel holstered his weapon, and palmed a black-coated handgun with the words ‘SIG-Sauer’ stamped along its barrel; turned it over in his hand a few times before deciphering its configuration and releasing the empty magazine. It was lighter than it looked, well balanced even without a loaded clip; felt cool and inviting, the grip nesting familiar in the curl of his fingers.</p><p>A series of clicks sounded from across the room, and he looked up to see Rowe signalling ‘objective’ and ‘contact’. The trio converged at the far end of the warehouse; on a stack of crates brimming with tightly-packed boxes of ammunition, ranging in size from small rounds to large calibur. Tristan pondered the selection a moment, then opened a box that seemed appropriate for the pistol he’d collected. He loaded the clip, and slid it back into place; pocketed the rest of the box, and nodded to his men. Signalled ‘five by’, and reached for the pocket at his collar.</p><hr/><p>“But there has to be <em> some </em> reason he’d thought it would work.”</p><p>Tristan turned the firearm over in his hand, speculative. He slid the bolt again to chamber a fresh round, and toggled the safety; aimed for the distant target and squeezed the trigger. The action was met with a dry click. He pursed his lips in a frown, perplexed. Beside him, Avery tilted his head in a one-shouldered shrug.</p><p>“Decoy depot, maybe?” the major proposed. “You said it felt too easy.”</p><p>“A whole warehouse, though?” Tristan didn’t want to dismiss the idea out of hand, but that building had clearly been loaded for intent. He shook his head, thoughtfully frustrated. “I don’t know, Ave. That seems a bit excessive.”</p><p>“‘Dramaturge’,” Avery reminded him. “Is it <em> really </em> that far-fetched?”</p><p>Tristan huffed, smirking. “Point. But it’s where the courier led, so I’m calling Command with my findings, and pushing it up the chain.” He disarmed the pistol and re-engaged the safety, glancing at his de facto XO as he did. “How were things here?”</p><p>The major tilted his head side to side a moment, considering. “It was an interesting couple of weeks, but nothing we couldn’t handle,” he reported, and Tristan was reminded of yet <em> another </em> reason to dislike Shadow. “Saf got someone at Sage Hall to sign off on cataloguing any new specimens that come in, so we’ve finally managed to make a dent in Mount Morbid.” He thumbed over his shoulder, toward the dome, and gave his CO a weary smile. “Still rank as fuck in there, though.”</p><p>“Thanks for the warning,” Tristan laughed, watching Cooper nose around the edge of the barrier, the heeler having finally left his side after his unexpectedly extended absence. “We square, otherwise?”</p><p>Avery glanced at his watch. “Gideon and Ivy are late checking in,” he advised. “We’ve been having issues maintaining contact with Garnath via trump, though; especially inside the zone. And they've been testing a new prototype of Bugs, so they’re not connected to the Hive at the moment. I was going to take a ride out there, let Coop stretch his legs..?”</p><p>There was a subtle invitation couched in it, but his tone also tilted toward submissive, the major easily relinquishing his temporary position by asking permission to perform a task he’d already been planning to undertake. Tristan considered, then nodded.</p><p>“I’ll join you,” he said. He could call Command and make his report from the road, after all.</p><p>So the two saddled up and, with the dog trotting happily alongside, headed for the Vale of Garnath at a sedate jog. Tristan passed on his findings to Julian along the way; offered out the weapon for the general’s review, but was rebuffed with a wave, so he slipped it back into his offhand holster for safe keeping. The conversation ended with a curt approval, and he returned his father’s card to the pouch on his hip.</p><p>The act sparked up a memory though, and he gritted his teeth with a sigh.</p><p>“What’s on your mind, T?”</p><p>It was the sort of direct opening he’d always appreciated Leo for, and Tristan reflected a moment on how smoothly Major Geller had assumed the role of trusted confidant in his oldest friend’s absence. So while he didn’t generally commiserate with his subordinates, it was nevertheless natural to extend Avery the courtesy of an honest answer.</p><p>“Did you know Shard and Saffron were part of the Holdfény Collective?”</p><p>Avery repressed a smile, then let it slip through. “What finally gave her away?” he asked as confirmation.</p><p>“She used a tracking technique I hadn’t seen since Ghenesh,” he recounted. “When did you find out?”</p><p>“I think I had Saf pegged from week one, but didn’t actually ask her until much later,” the other man confessed. Then, with an apologetic look, added, “She asked me to keep her confidence in that. I hope you don’t mind.”</p><p>Tristan shook his head. The major really was good oats. “It wasn’t mission imperative information, Avery. No harm done.”</p><p>The younger Vert flashed him a grateful smile. Then,</p><p>“There’s more to this, though,” he probed, making a small motion to indicate Tristan as a whole. But when the colonel didn’t respond, Avery tilted his head and looked down the trail; eventually broke the silence with a flat, “Your sister was Ninth Cav.” Then, gently, “Shit. That’s a dark topic to be able to bond over.”</p><p>Tristan kept himself to a non-committal hum, but truthfully he had no interest in bonding with Shard over the subject. He was still a bit stung by her flippant retort, and had only allowed the discussion to remain tabled this long because they’d apparently been away nearly a fortnight. Debrief was more important. The fact that some part of her apparently blamed the Royal Family for the death of hers… That could wait until after dinner, at least. And possibly a good night’s sleep, to give his temper a chance to burn down a little.</p><p>The two men passed by Yeoman’s Ferry, and continued their journey northwest toward the gulch. It was early afternoon, and the weather was kindly cool for the season. As they closed in on Garnath however, the temperature continued to drop, and Tristan became aware of a rise in the humidity — his exposed skin felt dewy, and beads of condensation were gathering in the creases of his tac gear. He passed a glance at Avery, who swiped a hand across the back of his own neck in acknowledgement.</p><p>At ground level, Cooper whined. Tristan looked down to find him gazing up earnestly, trembling with restraint, nubbed tail flicking, anticipating the signal to gather.</p><p>The colonel relented with a small gesture. “Find.”</p><p>The tawny figure darted off like a shot, quickly disappearing over a berm in a scatter of detritus. The men nudged their mounts into a quicker trot, only to halt abruptly at the crest a few dozen yards later.</p><p>A great rotted swath had torn its way through the vale like a festering wound. Trees that were vibrant and green on Tristan’s last visit had been reduced to gnarled husks, toppled or close to, their roots unable to maintain purchase in the buckling earth and creating yawning pits with their upheaval. Underbrush accustomed to canopy cover had wilted from overexposure, and now stood barren as winter. A slow mist roiled within — soup thick, with wisping tendrils reaching out, then recoiling at the border.</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>The word was a breath coming out of Tristan’s mouth. In the next, he cut loose a sharp whistle through his teeth; caught Cooper’s yip of response from the left, around a slight curve in the landscape. With a quick look to Avery, the two heeled their mounts toward the sound.</p><p>The cattle dog was hunkered on his belly next to Ivy’s prone form, the woman lying face-down in a pile of mulch a few strides from the edge of the desolation. Her strawberry blonde hair was a scatter around her head, tangled in twigs and thorns and jaggedly singed; gear scored with shallow cuts, and scorched black at points. Cooper’s chin was resting lightly on her back, just below her shoulder. Tristan could see his head rise and fall in a jerking nod with the woman’s irregular respiration.</p><p>The men dismounted, and Avery took up an overwatch role as Tristan knelt down across from Cooper. He gave the dog a praising scratch before lifting the Acolyte’s hair away from her face; blanched slightly when he found one pale blue eye wide open, staring blindly into the distance, checked out.</p><p>“Ivy,” he hedged. “Ivy, it’s Tristan. Can you hear me?”</p><p>Cooper gave a plaintive whine, and tucked his nose closer to the woman’s cheek. Her eye blinked slowly, and rolled toward him — unfocused, most of its sclera stained red from hemorrhage. Tristan cautiously placed a hand on her shoulder, alongside the dog’s muzzle.</p><p>“Ivy, where’s Gideon?”</p><p>Her face made a languid contortion of confusion, then crumpled in genuine horror. Her eye glassed over with tears, and slid lazily toward the dead zone.</p><p>“Ok,” Tristan soothed, pulling back when his hand felt her begin to tremble beneath it, repeating, “Ok.” He glanced up at the major, who returned his worried expression. “Avery’s going to stay with you while I go look,” he said, ignoring the redhead’s narrowed <em> Like hell </em>stare-</p><p>Ivy’s hand leaped up from under its leafy cover, and clutched desperately at his tac vest. Her bloodshot eye focused on him, pleading.</p><p>“Don’t,” she rasped.</p><p>Tristan gave her a steadfast sigh, and covered her hand with his.</p><p>“We don’t leave people behind, Ivy,” he reminded her, carefully working her fingers loose. She resisted; clenched harder and shook her head.</p><p>“Don’t .. ignore .. crackles,” she heaved with great effort. Her gaze was suddenly intense, boring into him with esoteric conviction before glazing over again and going distant, lost to something only she could see as she sagged once more to the ground.</p><p>Tristan looked to Avery, then out over the foggy landscape. He unfurled to his feet.</p><p>“Sir,” Avery started. Tristan raised a forestalling hand.</p><p>“We may need an expedited exfil,” he advised, tone level in a way that brooked no dissent. “Stay with her, and try to make contact with anyone who can make that happen. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>The major gritted back an argument that his face wore openly, and nodded curtly. “Yessir,” he replied. Then glanced past him, and held out a fist, “Good hunting.”</p><p>Tristan tapped his against it almost absently, motioned Cooper to stay, and cycled a steadying breath.</p><p>He drew his pistol bow, and entered the desolation.</p><hr/><p>If the silence of his last visit was a lingering ache, it was nothing compared to the visceral reaction he felt now. Because along with that complete lack of wilderness heartbeat, stepping across the invisible boundary this time was like walking into Shadow all over again — except that sense of disconnect, of fade, was all around him for one raw, unfiltered moment before everything became so sharply Real, Tristan staggered as though assaulted. He crouched down and tucked his head, reeling from the metaphysical whiplash; eventually became aware of Avery calling his name from beyond the border, asking if he was ok.</p><p>The colonel lifted a thumb up over his head as he finally got his bearings. Sounds were unnaturally crisp in the mist, but did not carry. His breath practically roared in his ears, but fell flat when he tried to listen for it. He looked back across his shoulder to the scene he’d left behind; caught Avery’s eye where he knelt beside Ivy, lips moving in lost murmurs while he turned through his scant selection of trump cards; noticed Cooper had wormed himself under one of the Acolyte’s arms to press his nose into her neck for comfort, and was heartened to see her fingers curling into the heeler’s ruff.</p><p>Tristan shifted his attention to the compass on his wrist, and thought <em> Show me Gideon. </em> The needle twitched, then swung wildly before hovering toward two o’clock. He paused after rising, and thought <em> Show me Avery,</em> just to be safe. When the indicator swiveled unerringly toward the major, he let out a held breath, directed toward the missing Vert again, and began a cautious search through the fog.</p><p>He lost sight of the border fairly quickly, once he’d been swallowed up by the thickening air. It made breathing difficult, and he pulled his filter mask from its pocket; unfurled and hooked it on one-handed as he continued to survey the area. The footing was stable but slick, and surfaces took on an uncomfortably oily sheen, rippling with a thin film that deflected a direct gaze, and made him slightly nauseous to look at for too long.</p><p>Tristan choked back a rise of bile, and was lifting his compass in consultation when a sudden staccato of snaps to his right hijacked his attention; alerted him to a large branch coming loose from its trunk an unknown distance away. The thud that marked its landing was muffled, but heavy enough he felt the earth tremble through his boots, so when the mist in front of him suddenly billowed and swirled he was quick to dance back and duck, avoiding the inertial swipe of a bowing branch as the arm came to rest.</p><p>The kick of adrenaline sharpened him up, and Tristan redoubled his efforts; held his weapon at his side and shuttled his eyes from the compass to the ground in rapid movements, making minor course corrections with every few strides until he finally spotted a particular shade of evergreen amid the overturned peat: Gideon, face up, unresponsive; scalded and blistering but breathing, albeit in sharp gasps.</p><p>Tristan crouched next to the other man. Carefully pressed two fingers to his carotid and located a heartbeat, slow and weak. Like Ivy, Gideon’s uniform was scored in shallow cuts and showed evidence of close contact with something flammable. Unlike Ivy, he was not otherwise intact. His left leg was missing below the femur, and three of the fingers on his right hand had been wrenched out of socket; were already plump and purpling from poor circulation. He’d managed to tighten his tac straps enough to form a tourniquet before losing consciousness however, so blood flow from the severed limb had been reduced to a trickle rather than pulsing out of him.</p><p>Holstering his weapon, Tristan redirected the compass toward Avery, and tried to rouse Gideon with a mild shake of his chin, a soft repeating of his name. The man’s eyes opened with bleary effort, brown irises nearly consumed by their pupils, and then his arms lifted in a fending motion, eyes squeezing shut and face contorting in terror while his limbs jerked in desperate defense.</p><p>“Oh, hey, no.” Tristan pulled off his mask, immediately gagging on the oily air but needing the man to register his identity, and caught the injured hand as it flailed toward him, his voice stern but pleading, “Gideon, it’s Tristan. Hey. Hey!”</p><p>He snagged the other arm when it swung his way, and folded the pair across the Vert’s armoured chest; carefully pinned them there with a firm grip, and cycled through a string of reassurances until a modicum of understanding leaked through the other man’s panic. Gideon came back to himself in painfully slow increments, and cautiously looked up. His voice, when he tried to use it, was a cracked shell.</p><p>“I-”</p><p>Gideon rattled with a wet breath, and it was all the confirmation Tristan needed that his ails were deep; had made it past his tac gear, and settled behind the man’s rib cage. He could feel it too, building up in the base of his throat, slowly constricting his airway. The colonel turned his head and hocked, spitting thickly into the dirt before setting a calming palm on the downed man’s shoulder, and ducking to find his gaze.</p><p>“Ivy?” he finished. Watched Gideon’s brows rise imploringly, hopeful, and did not hesitate to offer relief with a nod. “We found her. She’s with Avery and Cooper.”</p><p>The way Gideon’s face crumpled in gratitude, the choked sob he let out at the news, were potentially career-damning tells, but Tristan wasn’t about to scold a man in his condition for successfully keeping an illicit relationship under the radar. Instead, he dispelled as much of the other man’s worry as he could by cradling his neck, and pulling up an encouraging smile.</p><p>“Best not to keep a gal like that waiting,” he chivvied, voice phlegming again even as he slipped his mask over the lower half of Gideon’s face. “Up ya get, Captain Willis. Heave-ho.”</p><p>With that, he levered himself under Gideon’s left arm, and hauled the other Vert to his side; hooked the man’s elbow over his neck, and rose as smoothly as he could manage, lending as much of his right side as his own balance could afford to compensate for the missing limb. Tristan could hear teeth grinding by his ear, his compatriot clearly in distress but determined to push through, and turned his compass where the other man could see it.</p><p>“Two-hundred yards,” he supplied as encouragement. “Two-fifty, tops.”</p><p>A small pause, then, “Walk in the park, Colonel.”</p><p>“We’ll take the dog,” Tristan responded out of habit, and nudged Gideon into stride.</p><p>Between the terrain, the handicap, and the slow strangulation of his airways further fogging his vision, it was extremely rough going, and even Tristan’s nerves began to fray. Still, he forced himself to drop the occasional encouragement to keep Gideon moving; keep him distracted…</p><p>…because they were being stalked.</p><p>And whatever it was was closing in.</p><p>Tristan hitched Gideon higher up onto his shoulder, and quickened pace when the edge of the zone came into view. He could see Avery on his feet, arms waving over his head; hands cupping around his mouth to holler-</p><p>Something crackled on his left.</p><p>It was an autonomic reaction. Tristan’s free hand dropped to his thigh, made a smooth motion of depressing to nock and then drawing his weapon, thumb flipping the safety as he brought it to bear and squeezed the trigger.</p><p>The SIG-Sauer’s rapport rent the air — whip-crack sharp, no echo.</p><p>The unexpected recoil threw his shot wide. With preternatural calm, Tristan adjusted his grip, shifted his weight, and emptied the magazine - seven more rounds, center mass - before the leonine creature skid across the forest floor to rest at his leading foot, dead.</p><p>It was a long series of dry clicks until he could stop firing. The humanesque face scowled up at him in an eternal snarl, golden eyes dilated and half-rolled white, and he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a mature manticore this deep into Arden-</p><p>“Tristan.”</p><p>The voice at his ear was wispy and frail; nothing resembling the booming bass he usually heard from the man. It brought him back to the situation at hand, and he shifted his gaze to Gideon, whose complexion had taken on a pasty grey hue over the mask, beneath the rivulets of sweat.</p><p>“Hell of a day, eh?” the captain croaked.</p><p>Tristan blinked, heaving like a bellows. Gideon’s irises rolled back, and his sagging form threatened to drag them both to the ground-</p><p>Then Bailey was there, hooking himself under Gideon’s other arm, catching Tristan’s gaze in a frantic stare, grey-green eyes wide and lips moving behind a thin pearlescent shimmer. And Tristan’s head was clanging like a bag of hammers so it took effort to-</p><p>“Let go, Sir!”</p><p>A presence on his other side, and Gray was carefully taking the gun from his lax grip; offering himself as support, and nodding toward the Gate visible beyond the border. Toward Avery carrying Ivy through to Central. Toward Cooper hovering at the threshold, waiting for the rest of his people.</p><p>Relief flooded him.</p><p>Unconsciousness followed.</p><hr/><p>He woke in MedCorps: chest heavy like he’d been sucking air through a straw full of concrete, vision clouded in a coat of rust that swirled nauseatingly with each blink, and a constant feeling of needing his ears to decompress that no amount of working his jaw could dispel.</p><p>But that all seemed a distant concern because his bed was a cloud floating far above it all and he felt <em> goooood</em>. ‘Lazing after sex in the warm summer sun’ good. ‘Melting chocolate into a Yuletide Rye’ good.</p><p>He also felt slimy, and when he touched his face his hand came away coated in a clear, viscous substance.</p><p>“Oh, hey, careful there, Sir.”</p><p>Avery’s voice from his left drew his attention, and Tristan rolled his head across the pillow toward it. He muzzily held up his goo-slicked palm.</p><p>“Is this my skin?”</p><p>The other man canted his head, and puffed out a breath; amusement overlying palpable relief.</p><p>“And now I know they gave you The Good Drugs.” Avery stood from his perch on the windowsill, and approached Tristan’s bedside. “That should make Leo happy.”</p><p>“Leo won’t do drugs,” Tristan slurred with conviction. “Not since the last time.”</p><p>“<em>Wow</em>,” Avery crowed, and the sound made Tristan cringe; woke him up from his narcotic fog enough to register what he’d said, and then cringe again. His XO waved off with a chuckle.</p><p>“I’m sure there’s a <em> very </em> interesting story in that, someplace, but for now I’m going to pretend it never happened.” Hooking a chair around, Avery sat and studied his CO a moment before venturing, “You here?”</p><p>Tristan scanned the room. Reached up for the pulley that would raise his torso a bit more, and thanked Avery when the man gave it a tug for him; accepted the glass handed to him next, and sipped. The fluid soothed his throat like a balm; cooled and then warmed his insides, and swept more of the hazy feeling away.</p><p>After a few swallows, he prompted, “Go.”</p><p>Gideon and Ivy had been given over to members of the Medical Corps, who in turn had immediately transported them to Sage Hall, where facilities were better equipped to combat the effects of manticore venom, and address their various injuries. At last report, he was still in surgery, and she was expected to make a full (physical) recovery.</p><p>Tristan’s accidental discovery about the SIG-Sauer proved fortuitous, as Avery’s report to Command came in the midst of the general learning that several other dead zones were quickly going the way of Garnath. Within minutes of their party’s arrival, the lot had been upgraded from ‘anomalous’ to ‘hostile’, and a full-scale operation to raid Corwin’s bunker had been ordered. With Shard supplying transport, Leo leading Alpha and Bravo to manage any wetwork, and the JTF handling weapons distribution throughout the affected regions of the GC, the Op - Avery insisted - was well in-hand.</p><p>As to the appearance of Bailey and Gray, the major was genuine in the awe that slipped into his voice when he explained that, by virtue of their collectively inquisitive and generally proactive natures, the pair of them had recognized the communications issue with Garnath as a potentially dangerous one, and begun working on incorporating the amplifying properties of the Bugs into their Environmental / Situational Armour (or ‘eesa’ for short). It was pure happenstance they had been field testing their prototypes under the dome at The Foundry when Avery had reached for Bailey.</p><p>“They’re both fine, by the way,” Avery concluded. “Five by, no ill effects, scanned and discharged in less than ten minutes. So we’re logging that as a win.”</p><p>Tristan nodded agreeably, then tilted his head. “Any idea when MedCorps will be letting me join them?”</p><p>The other man looked concerned. “Mandatory seventy-two hour observation period aside,” he stated, “have you actually <em> seen </em>yourself, T?”</p><p>It was only after Avery ushered him across the room and stood him in front of a mirror that Tristan was able to acknowledge the extent of physical damage his search-and-rescue had done. He’d thought the mist had felt oily, yet his exposed skin suggested he’d been wandering the Ma’k Deig without proper covering for a week. His eyes were frightfully bloodshot, and looked sunken against the bruised skin around them. Rows of tiny red blisters were forming over his cheeks, along what would have been the top edge of his mask. Rivulets of collected condensation had stripped chestnut streaks through his short brunette hair; scalded trails down his temples, and behind his ears.</p><p>“Fuck,” he said. No vanity; just dumbfounded. “They're all doing this? The dead zones?”</p><p>His attention settled on Avery’s reflection. The other man grimaced, and nodded.</p><p>“It's all gone a bit…” He trailed off a moment, then, “What’s that thing you say? ‘Over the timber cart in brass monkeys’?”</p><p>Tristan coughed a laugh. “When everything's a shitshow, but then it’s also pissing down rain?”</p><p>The two men studied each-other via the mirror. The forced humor faded.</p><p>Then,</p><p>“We’ve the upper hand in defense now, though,” Avery said. “So at least there’s that.”</p><p>Tristan stared at his own battered reflection, and hummed.</p><hr/><p>He couldn’t sleep.</p><p>When he closed his eyes, he saw that goddamned manticore sneering up at him.</p><p>When he closed them too long, the gun didn’t fire; or the beast didn’t stay dead.</p><p>After enough of those, he was wound so tight he fell out of bed and pounded out a hundred push-ups; parlayed it into a sequence of morning calisthenics (bicycles / mountain climbers / crunches / planks), then regretted not having ready access to a shower, and cleaned up as best he could with the cloth and basin.</p><p>The ‘mandatory observation period’ required after prolonged contact with a hazardous substance was bullshit for him, and everyone knew it. But he hadn’t reached his position by being insubordinate when it suited him, so he was determined to serve his forced downtime like a good soldier even though the confinement had him coming out of his goddamn skin at three in the goddamn morning-</p><p>He was holding Aunna’s card before he’d acknowledged hunting for it; was reaching out to make contact the moment its presence in his hand registered. Because <em> of course </em> she’d be able to commiserate with his situation, assuming she wasn’t otherwise occupied…</p><p>And he kinda wanted to get her input about Shadow, and her experiences moving through it, because slipping across that barrier in Garnath had felt-</p><p>His sister answered with the brightest, most serene air about her that he had ever witnessed - flakes of snow melting in her hair, steaming mug rising to her smiling lips - and he was gut punched at the idea of disrupting that peace. The sensation twisted like a knife when her expression slowly fell toward concern at the sight of him.</p><p>“What the fuck happened to you?”</p><p>She sounded mildly horrified, but in a way that suggested she’d be giving him shit for this later. Tristan forced himself to grin, and waved it off.</p><p>“Bit of an unexpected encounter in Garnath,” he undersold, flopping back onto his propped bed in affected boredom. “Mandatory observation period. I’ll be fine.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Captain Gideon Laurel Willis (JTF-RV/SA), of Hollyoak, Begma, died of his wounds at Sage Hall. Command awarded him His Majesty’s Courtesy, with full military complement, and a generous financial donation was made to his family in recognition of their loss. He was 48.</p><p>ASO Ivy (née Einslee Gladstone) was given an honorary discharge, and released into the custody of her family in Nocturne Falls, Murn. Two days after Gideon’s funeral, she was found dead of an apparent morphine overdose. Intent was never proved, but also not ruled out. She was 33.</p><p>Tristan wanted to say he couldn’t remember the last time he lost a member of his team - let alone two - only the statement would be patently untrue.</p><p>It had been a while, yes. But he never forgot.</p><p>It wasn’t in him to forget things like that.</p>
<hr/><p>In the days following his release from MedCorps, Tristan came to recognize that his close encounter with the manticore had rattled him deeply.</p><p>He took to fastidiously studying and maintaining his new sidearms, having added a Glock at his hip to the SIG-Sauer on his thigh, reaching the point that he could strip and reassemble both in less time than he needed to fully re-string a pistol bow. And while he knew it was a coping mechanism - a tick - he didn't always stop himself from running through a quick sequence of clip / chamber / safety checks whenever his hands were idle for too long.</p><p>(He <em> did </em> refuse to give in to the urge to sleep with one under his pillow, though. Nightmares like his? That was just asking for trouble. Safer to reach beneath his cot for the comfort of Cooper’s ruff; ground himself with fingers running through warm fur, instead of curled around a galvanized grip.)</p><p>The stress also manifested itself into an intense need to make sure his people were well equipped, and even better trained. So when Saffron came to him suggesting they figure out how to manufacture ammunition ‘in house’, the colonel immediately handed over the box of 9mm rounds he’d pocketed on that first raid of Corwin’s stockpile, and told her to commandeer as many assistants as she needed to get the job done. And when Leo floated the idea of joint patrols with the Vert (thus freeing up the Rangers to focus their efforts on evacuating the population from the affected areas), he agreed with the caveat that they also schedule time to drill together, and insisted everyone carry handguns alongside their usual bow-and-steel armaments for good measure.</p><p>Those were <em> expected </em> changes though. PTSD 101, brought about by the fact that he'd escaped a terrible fate through sheer luck, and his brain was still coming to terms with it. Of course he’d develop a few idiosyncrasies in the process of confronting his mortality. At least he had the tools, and the fortitude, to turn them into functional quirks instead of sticking points.</p><p>What was <em> unexpected </em> was Shard’s reaction. The day he returned to The Foundry, she had strode into the office, declared herself pleased he was not dead, frankly apologized for implying his sister had anything to do with the death of her family (but was equally frank that she would not discuss the matter any further), and then demanded to see his trump deck.</p><p>
  <em> Bemused by the bombardment, Tristan handed the pouch over without protest. Shard rolled her eyes at it in her palm before extracting the cards, and dropping the worn-and-patched canvas onto the desk. She then reached behind herself, and for a moment he flashed back to the wing he’d been forced to carry through Shadow in search of Corwin- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -but she pulled forward a sleek wooden box instead — maybe 3x5x1; matte-finish dark walnut, with gently rounded edges, and a subtle counter-grain inlay. She pulled it apart like a hatbox, set the (nearly 2-inch) deck inside one half, then capped it with the other and muttered something as she pressed the halves together again. When her hands parted, the case was once more its original size, and appeared to be sealed shut. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Only you can open it,” she said, demonstrating by pressing ineffectually against the edges. “Horizontal for places, vertical for people, and it’ll never lack for space to add more of either.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tristan turned it over in his palm when she handed it to him, his appreciation for the craftsmanship giving way to marveling at how much lighter it was than his old canvas pouch; the fact that it would lie flat against his belt, or fit unobtrusively into his hip pocket. He ran his thumb along the counter-grain near the short end, and flipped the hinge he found there to sift through the faces of his family; closed it to repeat the same on the long side, only- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Consider a location first,” she advised. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His gaze flicked up to her, then back to the case. He thought about Central Command, and opened the horizontal cap to find it was the top card, followed by Arden OFC, and Amber Castle. He put them back and closed the box; thought of Leo and flipped the vertical end to find Leo, Aunna, Avery. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tristan bit back his impulse to effuse. Instead he remained practical, and asked simply, “How does it sort them?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mild psychic link,” she returned. “Provides additional results based on predictive reasoning.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Meaning it read his mind, and gave him anyone or anywhere else he could have meant, if not the top result. It was a little creepy, and slightly invasive, but not entirely awful. Especially since he was the only one who could open it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m going to appreciate the efficiency, I think.” He looked up at her properly then, and gave a small nod. Let a smile slip into adding, “Thank you, Shard.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She made a non-verbal response, but maybe smiled back. It was hard to tell. </em>
</p><p>Then she’d told him she was being recalled to Sage Hall for an extensive debrief on their projects, and to report what progress - if any - had been made on locating the source of the desolation in Garnath. He’d wished her luck in the lightly sarcastic way that said he didn’t envy her one bit (because figuring out the dead zone’s origin had been stymied by the fact that it’d become hostile), and she’d grunted dismissively on her way out the door.</p><p>She’d returned the following afternoon, once again the dark thunderhead on a sunny day, and did not leave the Lab for the rest of the weekend.</p>
<hr/><p>When breakthrough finally presented itself, it was via chance encounter.</p><p>He was out on patrol with Leo and Alpha Squad in Garnath, and if not for the swap of Petra for Eoin it almost felt like old times.</p><p>They were travelling in that sweet spot between rot and Reality, where firearms functioned but they were not at any environmental risk, Cooper trotting amiably alongside as the men swapped shit about ridiculously mundane-</p><p>Someone called “Contact left!”, and a shot was fired.</p><p>By the time Tristan brought his arm to bear, whatever it was had scrambled back to its feet and retreated into the dead zone, a flash of scales and antlers roughly the size of a wolfhound. The tawny-coated heeler perked up to give chase, ears and hackles raised.</p><p>“Might’ve winged it,” Leo said, re-engaging the safety and checking the chamber before holstering his Glock. “Looked armoured though, so maybe not. Ring any bells?”</p><p>It didn’t, and Tristan shook his head to indicate as much, and after calling his dog to heel they continued their route without further incident.</p><p>But two days later…</p><p>Two days later, while tagging along with Eoin and Bravo Squad in Murn, they came across the picked-over remains of an armour-coated creature with antlers, roughly the size of a wolfhound.</p><p>And Tristan wondered if performing a necropsy would find a bullet wound.</p><p>“What if they’re connected.”</p><p>Saying it aloud was a revelation. Tristan looked at Eoin, and reached for his trump deck, thinking ‘Julian’ as he thumbed it open.</p><p>“What if they’re connected,” he said again, extracting his father’s card, “but only on the <em> inside?” </em></p>
<hr/><p>Tristan asked for, and received, permission to take a small team into the desolation to confirm his theory.</p><p>He determined they’d enter at the midpoint of Garnath, then divide and head in opposite directions. If within a few yards they didn’t immediately pass back through the barrier, they would travel ten minutes, then step out and take a two-minute survey of their surroundings. Both groups would continue in this manner for a total of thirty minutes travel time, then report back to The Foundry to compare notes, and advise Command of their findings.</p><p>“If anything requires immediate attention however,” Tristan made very clear to his selected party, “every effort will be made to contact the other team before acting. Understood?”</p><p>Major Geller did not hesitate in nodding. “Yessir.”</p><p>With Saffron busy cracking the code on gunpowder, Tristan assigned Avery, Rowe, and his partner Harper to travel the northwest path while he, Shard, and Darnell (whose SA counterpart was also on Lab duty) took the southeast corridor. After a standard pre-Op check of weapons and gear, and confirming everyone had a fully-charged ESA to begin with, Tristan and Avery synchronized timepieces just inside the border at Garnath, and the sextet went their separate ways.</p><p>Their path meandered slightly, but never tapered to an end like it did from the outside, so by the time Tristan signalled for them to step out ten minutes later, he was unsurprised that they exited onto the kind of terrain you didn’t find near Arden: a boundless supply of rolling hills he’d almost call Buckden country, if not for the fact that Malwain was <em> north</em>east, and the colours hit him all wrong.</p><p>“Don’t laugh when I ask you this,” he ventured. “But does everything look pastel to you? A little blurry at the edges?”</p><p>Shard released a small sample of Bugs beside him, and genuinely examined that question as they deployed — panned her gaze across the horizon, then shook her head and palmed her Scrye open.</p><p>“No,” she said. Tristan hummed, and she glanced at him again. “Do you have something to share, Rozenberg?”</p><p>He took one more look around before he said it, but as with his previous revelation, the words felt obvious once they were out.</p><p>“We’ve left the Golden Circle.”</p><p>“I’m inclined to agree.”</p><p>Shard turned the map slightly to show him a cluster of pale yellow dots not far from their location, just beyond a dip in the landscape. When she zoomed in, the cluster revealed itself to be a herd of what looked like multi-tusked, six-legged, tiger-striped hogs.</p><p>“Sage Hall catalogued one of these a month ago, out of Deig’a.”</p><p>“Those are not natively Deigan,” Tristan stated.</p><p>“No, they are not,” Shard concurred just as flatly.</p><p>Pause. Then,</p><p>“They could be invasive here too, though,” he admitted. She nodded.</p><p>“There is that.” The Scrye reduced to a palm-sized orb, and she pocketed it.</p><p>Tristan made a small sound toward Darnell, who’d moved up the outer edge of the dead zone to keep watch. They met up at the border and checked the charges on their ESA; stepped into the swath and resumed their trek; repeated the process to discover a blasted waste of cracked earth beneath a violent red sky, which sent their environmental sensors pinging wildly upon entry. It felt conclusive, and Tristan was considering calling off the final leg of their Op when he felt a call coming in: touch, touch, contact.</p><p>“They’ve found something,” Shard said just as Avery connected, his XO stating,</p><p>“You need to see this, Sir.”</p><p>The declaration was an incongruous stereo in his head when Shard simultaneously pulled up a Gate to the other team’s location, so it took a moment of adjustment - eyes closed, brow furrowed, forcing the trump contact closed; craning his neck to shake off the image of Avery’s illusion superimposed over the man’s own back - before he could fully comprehend what he was seeing through the open portal.</p><p>The major and his companions were standing on a grassy rise overlooking a rocky plateau, which extended out onto a stone shelf above what looked like an endless sea. The sky was an almost aggressive blue, unmarred by cloud; the water swelled with benevolent malevolence as it faded into a far-reaching horizon.</p><p>It was beautiful. And mildly terrifying.</p><p>Because in the center of that rocky outcropping was a Pattern.</p>
<hr/><p>Tristan stepped through the portal, pulling his sidearm as he moved, and quickly tasked Avery with clearing the area. While his XO took charge of the other three members of their unit, Shard closed the Gate and stepped up to his left side.</p><p>“You did not know this was here,” she observed, producing her Scrye and tapping one thumb against it in quick staccato.</p><p>Tristan shook his head, openly awed. As far as he’d ever been taught, there were two Patterns: in the deepest levels of Amber Castle, and in the even deeper levels of its Rebman reflection. Theoretically there should be a third in the fleeting moonlight city of Tir, but given the impermanence of the manifestation, it seemed none were willing to prove the hypothesis.</p><p><em> This </em> however. Holy <em> shit… </em></p><p>“What’s happened to it?” he finally managed.</p><p>The fiery blue design etched into the earth had been damaged, somehow. It was broken by a deep fissure across its radius, with the desolation spawning from (or invading through) the point where that crack crossed the Pattern’s outer edge. Following it with his eyes, the swath appeared to curl its way up the hillside they now stood on, and disappear over the edge of the world a few hundred yards behind them, like some great black road.</p><p>“I cannot posit,” Shard replied flatly.</p><p>It was a rare enough admittance to prevent Tristan from spiraling over the fact that, while the ESA would have protected his people had they emerged into a deep water situation, had they travelled <em>onto the Pattern</em> first…</p><p>They were fine, though. In fact, Avery was signalling him from the crest he’d gone patrolling over, motioning ‘clear’, and ‘one casualty’, and ‘non-com’. Tristan glanced at Shard, and stowed his firearm.</p><p>“I’m-”</p><p>“Yes, yes,” she waved impatiently, keeping to her newly-adopted SOP of deploying Bugs and bringing up her tablet. A Gate snapped open beside him without so much as a cursory look from its creator, and as he stepped through to the lower plateau Harper traded him places, the Acolyte giving him a cursory nod before the portal sizzled from existence.</p><p>From this side, the rise they’d been standing on revealed itself to have a sheer dropoff at the seaward face, with a large cavern scooped out of the tightly compacted earth and stone. It was deep enough Tristan couldn’t see much past the lip, and it emanated a lingering smell of decay that he had little interest in exploring further; but when Avery jogged down the hillside to join him, he followed the major toward the entrance.</p><p>“Based on decomp, it’s been dead a few years,” Avery advised. “Elements didn’t get it, but carrion eaters did. What’s left is still pretty interesting, though.”</p><p>He then switched on his torch to add its light to the other two illuminating the cavern’s interior, and Tristan was met with the skeletal remains of a dragon-like creature roughly the size of an elephant. Its wings retracted as if in slumber, mummified patches of faded purple skin had sunken into the pits of its joints, and hung in membranous tatters between the bones that’d once been appendages for flight.</p><p>Tristan huffed out a startled sound. First a manticore; now a wyvern? Someone was summing up the classics, and that was unnerving on so many lev-</p><p>Something glinted when Avery panned his beam across the remains, and the colonel’s attention was immediately drawn to the non-organic flash of light; quickly identified a metal hoop that’d fallen into the dust of decomposition beneath the creature’s long neck, and followed the attached chain through the tangle of bones to where it disappeared into the darkness.</p><p>“Yeah, I thought that’d get you,” Avery murmured.</p><p>“How far back does it go?” Tristan asked. “What’s at the other end?”</p><p>The major shrugged. “You know what we do now, Sir.”</p><p>As if on cue, there was a scrambling clatter from the recesses, and all four men went immediately on point. Pulling his own pen light from the pocket on his left bicep, Tristan switched it on and drew his pistol bow, aimed the former at the darkness and the latter toward the ground, finger alongside the trigger guard in readiness. He caught Rowe’s eye when the Vert glanced back for instruction, and jutted his chin to the left. The other man nodded, and tapped Darnell on the shoulder to relay the direction as Tristan nudged Avery with his elbow, and indicated to the right. They made their way around the remains, fanning out slightly but maintaining visual contact, vigilant in their protocols as they moved deeper into the den.</p><p>Before they’d moved beyond the ambient light however, a curt female voice stopped them.</p><p>“Stand down, Colonel,” it said.</p><p>Tristan turned to, and the beam of his torch raced across the stone wall before falling upon the petite figure of his Aunt Fiona, who strode without hesitation into the cavern, Shard and Harper trailing docily in her wake.</p><p>“With all respect, Highness,” he countered flatly, “that is not your order to give.”</p><p>The Headmistress of Sage Hall tilted him a crooked smile, and waved a dismissive hand as she continued to approach him.</p><p>“Call your father if you must, Tristan,” she returned with the barest civility, “but you cannot deny this is well outside of your purview.”</p><p>It was a fair statement, but he still bristled slightly at the assumption of command. He switched off his light, and signalled his men to keep watch as he turned fully to engage her. Tristan’s face then lifted in the smile he reserved for Court - the one that anyone who really knew him said never quite reached his eyes - and his voice smoothed to honey over honed steel.</p><p>“Be that as it may, Auntie, we both know he would never forgive me if I did not make every effort to clear the area for you before handing it over.”</p><p>Fiona’s lips pursed at the salty endearment, mouth pulling into a pucker of distaste that made her look almost haggard as she halted before him. Then they curled up at the corners with his oblique admission of his father’s affection for her - unromantic, yet still love; born from a gratitude that he himself was the beating heart of - and when she briefly raised one eyebrow he knew the message was received: He’d keep a civil tongue, but professional courtesy would extend both ways, or not at all.</p><p>“As ever, I am appreciative of your diligence, Colonel Rozenberg,” she responded, making a broad gesture with one hand that put an end to their need for penlights. “Do carry on.”</p><p>“If you would please wait here, Highness,” Tristan requested.</p><p>“Of course,” Fiona nodded.</p><p>Tristan caught sight of Shard’s face over his aunt’s shoulder then, and the wide-eyed expression she directed his way was either a baffled chastening, or an incredulous awe. Quite possibly a mixture of both, if Harper’s open gape was any indication. It made him wonder how often either of them had seen someone stand up to the Headmistress, and walk away unscathed. Given his aunt’s reputation among her Mentees as an iron fist in a velvet glove, he was willing to wager it was a rare to non-existent occurrence.</p><p>He rejoined his men, and with cautious efficiency they explored the rest of the now well-lit cavern, which extended back a short distance into a shallow basin lined with leaves and twigs and other detritus (like the small bones of picked-over things), giving the impression of something between a bird’s nest and a burrow. The chain turned out to be attached to the cave wall with an eye bolt large enough for any of them to pass through at a crouch, and had enough length that the creature would have been able to reach well beyond the entrance before meeting any resistance.</p><p>“Think it was a guard?” Avery asked, sotto voce, noting the lazy s-curves of links that showed the wyvern had moved within the confines of its space freely enough.</p><p>Tristan nodded and hummed in ascent, calculating it would’ve had no issue reaching the grassy patch above them or (likely more importantly) the Pattern’s point of ingress a short distance from the cave’s entrance. The thought made him a little sad for the creature though, which had been at the very least as intelligent as a raptor, and deserved the grace of freedom; not to be kept in captivity as an apparent watchdog. It was cruel, and he hoped that its end had been swift at the hand of whoever had damaged the Pattern, and not a slow one by wasting away as its final position implied.</p><p>When the Vert collectively determined there was nothing lurking in the shadows, Tristan confirmed the area was ‘clear’, and left the sorceresses to their own inspection, posting Darnell and Rowe as overwatch for his own peace of mind. Then with a small tilt of his head to Avery, he led the way back toward the Black Road.</p><p>“This was a good find, Ave,” he confessed, thumbing out Julian’s card as they paused near the point where the desolation crossed over.</p><p>“First time lucky, I guess,” the other man returned. “And don’t think I’m unaware of the dark irony in that ‘lucky’, either.”</p><p>Tristan bit out a humorless laugh, and cut a glance toward the fiery blue construct. “No shit.”</p><p>The comment was met by a tight smile. Then, “How far did you get?”</p><p>“Two stops out. It was pretty obvious we were moving through Shadow from the start, though.”</p><p>Tristan turned up his left wrist at that, and held it out; compared it to Avery’s, and noted a near seventeen-minute difference between them. He made a disgruntled sound as he lifted his father’s trump, and regarded it to make his report.</p>
<hr/><p>“They actually said <em> ‘Primal Pattern’?” </em> Leo’s eyebrows were making a desperate climb into his hairline as he repeated what he’d been told, agog. “As in: The originally scribed manifestation of all Order in the universe, reason our ancestors fought the Founding War <em> Primal Pattern?” </em></p><p>Avery raised his right hand, and palmed it briefly over his heart. “Colour me shocked as shit, but yes.”</p><p>“And this ‘Black Road’.” Leo cast a quick look Tristan’s way, and received a slow nod in return.</p><p>“Cut right through the edge to the heart of it,” the colonel confirmed, lifting his tankard toward his lips. Then he waffled and lowered it again, countering himself with, “Or maybe spread out from the center, and became the road after crossing over? Could go either way.”</p><p>But determining which was so far above his pay grade (and yes, outside of his purview), Tristan had been more than happy to hand over the charge of the scene to Julian and Eric upon their arrival. General and King both had commended him on his initiative, and while he’d passed off credit for the discovery accordingly when they attempted to commended him for that too, he did not rebuff his uncle’s suggestion that he and his compatriots take the evening off in gratitude.</p><p>Harper had provided a Gate back to The Foundry when Shard made clear she intended to remain behind to assist the Headmistress, and Tristan had given his counterpart a nod that was equal parts understanding and grateful before leaving her to it. The JTF home base had been pandemonium when they’d arrived however, and with the exploration party still collectively on edge, they’d all drawn in defense before realizing the energy was festive rather than frantic.</p><p>Thinking news of their discovery had perhaps preceded them - which was possible, given the nature of Shard’s communications to her people via Scrye - Tristan was just starting to wonder if he’d been underappreciating what had been found when he realized the celebration was not being directed their way at all, but focused on the Lab.</p><p>Because limited ammunition was no longer a concern. Saffron had broken the chemistry, and Sage Hall was prepping for mass production. When this was made clear to him, Tristan extended the impromptu night off to the rest of the unit (as was his right, and his absolute pleasure), then called to share the news with Leo — who was already out on RTO for the evening with two of his fiancée’s brothers in town on business.</p><p>Which was how a handful of them ended up at a classy little dive in Southport called TradeWinds, watching Margie and her siblings razz each other over the billiards table as a way of allowing Leo, Tristan, Avery, and Saffron (who declared she wanted to ‘see how the other half lives’ rather than follow the rest of the Acolytes to Hallow’s Pier up the street) to get a little shop-talk out of the way as they worked toward shedding their professional mantles for a few hours.</p><p>“What could cause that, though?” Saffron’s face pulled down in a rare scowl. “Did you ever hear of such a thing, in your preparations for taking the Walk?”</p><p>As the only one with firsthand knowledge of the Pattern, she posed the question to Tristan, who shook his head in honest bafflement.</p><p>“I will say this though,” he offered after a pause. “I think the people looking into it are the very best we could hope for, so I’m not going to agonize while they suss it out. Instead I’m going to focus my energy on the things I can actually effect — like protecting people from the shit it’s gonna keep flinging our way until a solution is found.”</p><p>Avery expressed his support by clapping the edge of the tabletop twice, the inside of his AOFC ring making a sharp clack against the wood, and lifting his drink. Tristan hoisted his in return, and finished it off before motioning with his empty tankard for another.</p><p>“Does this mean we’re finished with the workday palaver then?” Leo asked, elbow cocking out to prod Tristan’s. “Because Rory said something over dinner that got me thinking-”</p><p>“Oh shit,” Avery quipped into his drink. The other man flashed a sideways smirk, and a rude gesture.</p><p>“Which one’s Rory again?” Tristan queried in return, shifting his attention toward the siblings, and trying not to think about another thick-as-thieves trio of redheads he knew.</p><p>“Firstborn.” Leo thumbed toward the tallest of the present Millses, then idly counted off the rest from index to pinky. “Then it’s Terence, Lawson, Eliott, and Wendall. Caleb’s the youngest,” he concluded with a small nod at the slighter of the men, who was leaning against his pool cue waiting his turn with a coyly telling tilt to his hips. “He’s a year older than Margie.”</p><p>“That’s an impressive turn-around,” Saffron noted in an offhand tone. Then cringed slightly, and cast Leo an apologetic look. “Sorry. Nosing in the rushes.”</p><p>“Nonsense,” Avery interjected. “If Maj- oop, sorry Sir, <em> Colonel </em> Westwood didn’t mean for you to overhear something, he wouldn’t have spoken up in the first place. He keeps the <em> real </em> secrets clenched ‘tween his teeth and burrowed deep, like a ‘Turoman Gator.”</p><p>Grinning, Tristan leaned slightly to the left, and butted his shoulder against Leo’s. “That may be the nicest thing he’s ever said about you, dear.”</p><p>Leo snorted almost derisively around a rhetorical, “And I suppose I’m expected to return in kind, yea?”</p><p>“It’s only polite,” Tristan chivvied.</p><p>Leo took a drink then, and studied the man across from him for a long moment before swallowing. Finally he offered,</p><p>“If anyone had to take my place in being there, I’m glad he chose you.”</p><p>Tristan had long ago determined that the barbs Leo and Avery slung at one-another were never hostile or malicious; more a fictional animosity which was really an impressive display of two only children playing at ‘siblings’, and (at least from his experience) getting remarkably close. Which was especially evident in exchanges like these: when one of them said something purely heartfelt in public, yet the other’s first response-</p><p>“You asshole! You <em> told </em> him to take me!”</p><p>-was to obliterate any semblance of a tender moment before feelings happened.</p><p>“‘It’s impossible to hide <em> anything </em>from this observant prick’,” Avery quoted, in a passable affectation of Leo’s cadence, and Colonel Westwood’s previously restrained laugh finally barreled around the barroom. “Those were your exact words! Just admit already that you wanted to get rid of me, because you thought Eoin would be easier to dodge!”</p><p>From the other side of the bar, Margie and company looked their way at the outburst, and when she lifted a hand toward the group with a grin, Tristan was reminded that this whole moment had started when his friend asked if shop talk was over. Leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers across his abdomen, he stretched his legs beneath the table, and crossed his ankles in casual ease.</p><p>“So what did Rory say?” he prompted, once his friend’s laughter had been wrangled.</p><p>By his expression, it took Leo a moment to find the thread again. But when he did, his face contorted in a quick succession of bright delight and worried pragmatism.</p><p>“We were talking about Balfax,” he explained, “and how I intend to pull it out of Trust, and let Margie run things after we’re married-”</p><p>(Tristan immediately grinned for the little rebellion that was Lord Balfax finally claiming his birthright, only to pass it over to his foreign-born wife. The Old Guard would be practically <em> frothing </em> until Margorie Mills forced them to choke on it, just like Lucille Westwood had.)</p><p>“-and he said that, given the state of things, he was certain their parents would understand if we eloped, so long as we did something big to celebrate proper once affairs permitted. Which got me thinking…”</p><p>Leo trailed off, and after a beat Tristan panned his gaze around the table. Saffron appeared to be lost in her own headspace, absently watching the billiards game from afar; but Avery was pondering Leo with his hand cupped over his mouth, chin in his palm, elbow on the table.</p><p>Tristan regarded his oldest friend with a bald query. “Are you looking for a dissenting opinion?” he asked. “Because I gotta be honest, Leo. I don’t have one.”</p><p>A small flash of relief crossed Leo’s features as he said, “Things are fixin’ to be crazy for a bit, I think.”</p><p>“I’d go so far as to say they’re likely to get worse before they improve,” Tristan amended. “But come what may, we’ll make it happen, and I <em> will </em> be there to stand up for you when it does. You can count on that.”</p><p>He added the last with a warm smile, and sat up in his chair to curl a hand over Leo’s shoulder; gave a light squeeze as he lifted his tankard in toast with the other’s. There was a clunk, and a sip, and then-</p><p>“Saffron’s Ordained, you know.”</p><p>As one, Leo and Tristan turned their gazes on Avery, who lowered his hand to elaborate.</p><p>“Small church,” he continued. “Just a woodland sect of the CotU, but it’s recognized by the Royal Registry.”</p><p>“It’s true,” the Acolyte confirmed before anyone could question.</p><p>Leo exchanged glances with Tristan, asking, “And you’d-”</p><p>“Of course,” she responded over him. “Love should be celebrated; union should be made when it’s true. Could do it right now in fact, if you were inclined. The courtyard looks festive, and it’s a beautiful night.”</p><p>Saffron finally deemed to acknowledge the two men learning this for the first time, and she shrugged at their stunned regard.</p><p>“There was a brief point where I thought I might’ve wanted to be a Cleric for Sage Hall,” she confessed. “But then the SA came calling.”</p><p>And where Shard went, so went Saffron. It was an irrevocable fact of their Weirhood that’d taken Tristan a long time to cotton, but had clarified so much about their dynamic once he had. He met her gaze with a look of appreciation as, beneath the table, Leo’s knee finally stopped bouncing against his.</p><p>Then Lord Balfax stood, and crossed the room.</p>
<hr/><p>“Why the urgency?” Aunna’s illusion affected scandal by clutching the non-existent pearls at her throat. “Did Major Westwood forget to check his gear before deployment? Did he put that girl in The Family Way, T?”</p><p>Tristan barked, and took a swig of his beer before shaking his head. “No, he just wants to get a jump on things with his Estate. In case-”</p><p>He cut himself off, and abruptly regretted calling her when alcohol had clearly punched a hole in his filter; knew damn well the shrug he tried to pass off as tipsy dismissal was transparent as fuck.</p><p>Sure enough, she fixed him with a sharp regard in asking, “In case of what?”</p><p>Tristan attempted to play up the fact that he’d had a few, and was perhaps a little drunk, by watching the dregs of his stout as he lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug.</p><p>“You know: ‘In case’.” His eyes flicked sideways to acknowledge her, “And it’s Lieutenant Colonel Westwood now, BT-dub.”</p><p>Aunna’s tone took on a doting note. “Aww, he caught up to you again! Bless.”</p><p>It was enough to get a genuine laugh from him, but only until she visibly sobered.</p><p>“Please don’t deflect, Tristan,” she requested, her expression dour. “In case of what?”</p><p>It hit him then that although he was genuinely happy for Leo, and had only ever wished the best for him, he also felt a bit of envy - for his friend, for his friend’s wife, for whatever peace his sister had cultivated in Shadow - and it drew his wistful eye past Aunna’s illusion to where Lord Balfax swayed with his Lady in the moonlight. For the first time in years (since Genette really, although he was quick to discard <em> her </em> from the equation), he gave fleeting thought to the prospect of a domestic life / career life balance, and let it become the pivot point of their conversation.</p><p>“Just .. in case,” Tristan murmured, almost confidentially. “He’s making sure she’s properly provided for, ‘in case’ his incredibly high risk profession ever gets the better of him. Queueing up the harnesses and all that.”</p><p>Because that’s what you did for someone you loved; someone you wanted to build a life with. You made sure the details were addressed, if you hoped to stand the test of time.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>His own attention split, it took a moment to register how delayed his sister’s response had been; the distracted delivery of it.</p><p>But by that point they were wrapping up the call on automatic — with Tristan promising to pass on her congratulations, and Aunna making a distant comment about drunk-dialling being so collegiate as to possibly be a cry for help at his age. He flipped her a two-fingered salute before disconnecting, and slid the card back into the deck; regarded his empty tankard with a mournful expression, then set it aside. He got to his feet, and crossed to where the newlyweds continued to weave in a slow circle to the dulcimer serenading them from the corner.</p><p>“Hey,” Leo offered when he noticed the approach, slowing to stillness before turning Margie to face his friend. She smiled radiantly.</p><p>“Thank you for your endorsement, Tristan,” she said, opening her arms to him.</p><p>Tristan’s first impulse was to waive it off as a silly formality, but he decided not to belittle the gesture's significance in her eyes. Because Margie wasn’t just ‘marrying up’, as far as Court was concerned. She was also ‘young’, and his support - though the truth of the matter grated him - gave her instant clout that she’d have needed years to build alone. So instead he accepted her hug with genuine warmth, and pressed a fraternal kiss to her temple.</p><p>“I cannot imagine a better woman to lend it to,” he responded, heartfelt. Then in a small mockery of Leo’s earlier comment, met his friend’s gaze and added, “If I had to lose my husband to someone, I’m glad it was you.”</p><p>Margie laughed against Tristan’s shoulder, but there was a bit of a sniffle in it. “Yes, well, thank you for helping him become the man I’ve chosen to shackle myself to.”</p><p>His chuckle was equally wet, but honest. “You’re welcome.”</p><p>“Are you heading out then?” Leo asked, noting the tilt of Tristan’s smile as he stepped away from Margie, and redirected himself toward his friend.</p><p>“Yeah, I think so. It’s been a bit of a Day.” He pulled the other man into an embrace then, and gripped him tightly. “Congratulations, brother.”</p><p>Leo’s arm squeezed just as fierce, but he underpinned it with a subtle, “You square?”</p><p>Tristan stiffened - <em> I almost didn’t live to see this </em> - then forced another chuckle.</p><p>“I just drumped my sister,” he confessed. “She sends her best but, honestly, how OFC-league is <em> that?” </em></p><p>“Truly pathetic, T,” Leo huffed in amusement.</p><p>“Also,” Tristan eased back then, and gave his friend a pleading look as his voice dipped between them, “I’m well aware that Caleb has been sparking my way most of the evening. And while I’m flattered, I really don’t think-”</p><p>“Oh, I agree,” Leo cut over with a laugh. “I promise to be tactful in making your declination to my new brother-in-law.”</p><p>Tristan’s face lifted in a wry smile at the assurance, and he let the topic drop. Not that Margie’s youngest sibling was unattractive: he was ruggedly refined, if in a more-femme-than-personal-preference sort of way. Rather there was a mutual aversion to ever wanting to visit <em> that </em> particular awkwardness again, and in all honesty he wasn’t in the mood for a tumble tonight.</p><p>“I’m granting you forty-eight, Leo,” Tristan finally declared, loud enough to get a little attention from the other patrons on the patio. When the man inhaled to protest, he hastened to add, “I’ll make it an order if I have to, Colonel, but it’s your right as Lord of your Manor. I’m confident Major Lewison can carry the load for two days while you get your Estate squared, and your wife settled in.”</p><p>“Thank you, Tristan.”</p><p>Margie’s response was punctuated by a look at her husband - one that was probably more heated than she’d intended him to observe - and when Leo bit the inside of his cheek before nodding, Tristan took it as his final cue to go. He gathered Saffron and Avery, and after one last round of best wishes for the newlyweds / ‘nice to meet you’-s with the bride’s kin, Saffron transported Leo and Margie to Cabra Shoals as a wedding gift, and then the JTF trio took a Gate back to The Foundry.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> The SIG-Sauer’s rapport rent the air — whip-crack sharp, no echo. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The unexpected recoil threw his shot wide, and time slowed to a crawl. He flexed his fingers around the grip, adjusted his center of balance against Gideon’s deadening weight, and pinpointed a target area as he emptied the magazine. He continued squeezing the trigger long after the chamber had run dry, and the leonine creature had come to rest at his leading foot. Its humanesque face scowled up at him, golden eyes slowly rolling. Focusing. Blinking- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Tristan.” </em>
</p><p>Something touched the arch of his sole. He bolted upright, instantly half out of bed, one fist drawn back and the other arm up to defend himself. From below the cot, Cooper let out a low, protective sound.</p><p>Shard blinked at him blankly, but did not flinch from where she stood beside his foot locker.</p><p>“Is your sister well?” she asked.</p><p>His heart still racing, Tristan was slow to relax his posture. Eventually he deflated with confused irritation, and glanced at his watch before scrubbing his palms over his face.</p><p>“She was when we spoke a few hours ago,” he grumbled in reply, then lowered his hands and shot his counterpart a bleary glower. “Can I ask why you needed to know that <em> right now?” </em></p><p>Her response was to cast a look around the darkened barracks, then make a very small gesture at the exit before heading toward it. Swinging the rest of the way out of bed, Tristan reached under it to ruffle the heeler’s ears before getting up, and followed Shard across the building to their office.</p><p>He was only mildly surprised to find Saffron waiting inside, and the XO closed the door behind him as Shard began pacing the room. Tristan settled on the corner of his desk, one foot on the floor, and loosely folded his arms across his chest as he waited for her to explain. When the silence stretched however, he turned his gaze on Saffron, brow wrinkling in consternation.</p><p>The woman made a slow blink, and took a sturdy breath. “Shard.”</p><p>The name was softspoke, but weighty with a pleading support, and the other woman grumbled something in their Weir dialect that slowly shifted to a common tongue.</p><p>“First: I need you to understand I have seen that woman transfigure insubordinate students into actual hourglasses ‘so that they might more acutely feel everyone’s wasted time’ for <em> half </em> as much salt as you gave her today, and I don’t know if I am more impressed or frustrated by that.”</p><p>Shard leveled a look at him over her shoulder, but did not cease her circuit between desk and windows. Tristan shrugged one shoulder in response.</p><p>“To be fair, I’ve had a while to figure out how to push her buttons but avoid being blown up, so…”</p><p>Saffron snorted a small laugh from her perch on the windowsill nearest the inner door, but was otherwise silent. Shard’s lips wrenched in a sneer that felt more reluctant than disapproving, so he counted it as a small win. But then silence threatened to envelop them again, and after the interrupted sleep cycle (nightmarish or not) Tristan was feeling a little short on patience. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and prompted around a yawn,</p><p>“What’s the second thing?”</p><p>“That I think the Headmistress was aware the Primal Pattern had been damaged, and has known for some time.” </p><p>Tristan sat up straighter, suddenly wide awake. “Say again.”</p><p>“Further, I want to believe she’s been withholding this information because she doesn’t know how to repair it,” the First Acolyte continued as though he had not spoken, “but I suspect that small idealism may prove delusional.”</p><p>With that she took up the Scrye that had been lying open on her desk, and swiped two fingers across its surface. Then,</p><p>“-ou need to make a decision, brother,” Fiona’s voice was demanding coolly, “because I’m going to need you here to fix this mess, and time is running short now that it’s been fou-”</p><p>The recording cut off abruptly, but it was enough to kick Tristan’s pulse up a bit; get his tactical mind working.</p><p>“Where was that captured?” he asked. “When?”</p><p>“She was leaving the wyvern,” Shard supplied. “Moving toward the Pattern. ‘It’ could refer to either.”</p><p>He nodded, then, “Do you know who she was talking to?”</p><p>The woman frowned, but it was directed more in than out. “Audio is captured by the vibrational frequency of the speaker as they pass through the Hive,” she explained.</p><p>Which meant ‘no’, because trump manifestations were illusions in the mind, and therefore wouldn’t register any physicality unless brought through. Still, his aunt wasn’t known for addressing many as ‘brother’. Process of elimination therefore pointed to Bleys, or Brand.</p><p>“How did it die?” he asked. “The wyvern. Do we know?”</p><p>“It’s difficult to say, since it never really ‘lived’ to begin with,” Saffron answered, and Tristan’s attention swung her way.</p><p>“How’s that?”</p><p>“All evidence points to it having been a Construct, or a blood-bound creature,” she elaborated. “We believe it ‘died’ when the person responsible for its creation was unable to maintain it.”</p><p>“Which means someone had to neutralize it at the ‘source’,” Shard interjected, as she resumed her strident pacing.</p><p>“If it was installed specifically to guard the Pattern, that suggests premeditation,” Tristan said. “Planning.”</p><p>Saffron nodded, her expression pained. “And it was likely a team effort, considering the most probable creator.”</p><p>Tristan folded his arms, pondering. <em> Could the three of them have taken</em><em> Oberon</em><em> down? Contained him somewhere long enough to-</em></p><p>“There’s more to this, though,” he realized suddenly, looking up at Shard. “Otherwise, why ask about Aunna?”</p><p>Shard’s gaze shifted past his shoulder toward her XO, openly conflicted. Saffron cleared her throat.</p><p>“Show him,” she said.</p><p>Shard dropped her chin with a grumble and swiped again at the tablet, then thrust it out toward him as she passed by. He took it, and glanced down at the image on the surface; saw a grainy overhead view of Fiona standing at the edge of the Pattern, near the spot he and Avery had convened to compare notes before calling Command. He raised an eyebrow, confused as to its importance, and started to ask what he was supposed to be looking at when the image moved.</p><p>As he watched, his aunt surreptitiously pricked her own finger, and pinched out a few drops of blood. The experiment left a divot roughly the size of a haypenny, the additional mar blending seamlessly into the existing one, and <em> that </em> was the moment Tristan realized what Shard had been reluctant to say: that not only had the woman arrived on scene possessing insight far beyond a hunch, but whoever had been used to create the hatchet-like wound in the design <em> probably </em> hadn’t survived.</p><p>Tristan’s vision darkened at the edges.</p><p>“You’re telling me this was caused by Blood of Amber.”</p><p>His words rang hollow in his ears. Shard’s response was a dull thud in his chest.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>The tablet creaked in his grip.</p><p>“Now it <em> is </em> possible,” Saffron spoke up again, “that whoever performed the spell collected what they needed over a period of time-”</p><p>“-but blood magics are most potent when cast fresh from the source,” Shard cut in. “I will not give you false hope that whoever performed this ritual was humane.”</p><p>“Of <em> course </em> not,” Tristan found himself biting back, and it was everything in his resolve to set the Scrye aside rather than slap it down with shattering force. “Could be one of my kin has been bled out to tear a hole in the fabric of the fucking multiverse, but let’s not sugar coat <em> that </em> at all.”</p><p>Shard sucked her teeth. “It’s not my job to sweeten the facts, Rozenberg.”</p><p>“Might try being less of a bitter bitch about it, though.”</p><p>He stood from his perch, mentally shuffling through the faces of family members he had not personally seen since the dead zone’s appearance-</p><p>
  <em> Benedict, Deirdre, Bleys, Brand, Florimel .. Oberon </em>
</p><p>-and strode toward the door.</p><p>Saffron moved to intercept him without hesitation, placing a palm on his chest to stay his departure. When he looked up into her face, he softened slightly at her nakedly empathetic expression.</p><p>“I have to know who it was,” he said.</p><p>“And how do you hope to figure that out?” Saffron returned with a pleading calm. “I’m sorry, but when I said ‘team effort’, I wasn’t limiting that to three people. If you start making calls-”</p><p>“Trumps die with their subject, don’t they?” He looked back over his shoulder at Shard, brows up, seeking confirmation. “I heard that, back when I was sitting for mine. If we check anyone we haven’t accounted for-”</p><p>“Waste of time,” the First Acolyte huffed, her expression baleful.</p><p>He bristled at the outright dismissal, and was gearing up to spit something acerbic in retort when he felt Saffron’s palm slide up to clutch at his shoulder, pulling his attention to her again.</p><p>“They don’t just shut off, Tristan,” she said, passing Shard a chastising look over his head before meeting his gaze. “They fade, like stars. You wouldn’t get an accurate read without attempting contact.”</p><p>Tristan considered that, then relaxed his posture and placed his hands on his hips; pursed his lips when Saffron gave his deltoid a commiserating squeeze, then stepped away. He cycled a slow breath as he reformed his opinion of the situation, and came to a decision.</p><p>“Ok.” He repeated the word as he turned back toward the other woman in the room. “Ok, Shard. What do you propose?”</p><p>“We continue our trip southeast,” she stated. “I suspect we’ll have a better idea of who to confront, if we know what’s at the other end of the path.”</p><p>Her reasoning was hard to argue, so he didn’t waste time trying. </p><p>“Command already green-lit the Op, so we don’t need to request additional clearance,” Tristan decided. “But we should loop Avery in before we go, because it’s Shadow, and we could be gone for a bit.”</p><p>“Agreed,” Shard said. “And sooner than later, I think. Whoever was on the other end of that call will not wait. Neither should we.”</p><p>“I don’t want to lose track <em>here</em> again, though,” Tristan stated. “We can’t be gone for weeks this time, not like at Corwin’s bunker.”</p><p>“What if I check in at regular intervals?” Saffron suggested. “Let’s say .. on the threes?”</p><p>“That works,” the colonel accepted, with a final look to Shard. “And we should take the Graves. I’d prefer a four-man minimum for this, and we might need their collective eesa expertise.”</p><p>His counterpart made a slightly distracted sound of affirmation; she'd gathered her tablet, and resumed pacing as she consulted it. Tristan exchanged nods with Saffron when she opened the door for him.</p><p>“We'll leave in twenty,” he intoned on the way out.</p><p>Then he returned to the barracks to gear up, and wake his team.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The three men roused without question or complaint; simply gathered their gear in silence, and followed their CO into the common room.</p><p>Tristan briefed them while Avery put coffee on, and the Graves got dressed. Their objective was relatively simple: They would pick up the Black Road at the point where his party had left off the previous afternoon, and either locate whoever was responsible for its creation at the other end, or find definitive proof of their identity along the way.</p><p>Bailey and Gray exchanged a look of almost zealous glee as he finished - a wordless conversation that took less than a breath to reach an accord - and when the latter asked if he had a minute to retrieve something from the Lab, Tristan’s permissive gesture had barely swung up before the Acolyte was dashing off.</p><p>“What’s he after?” Avery asked, barely beating Tristan to the question.</p><p>Bailey’s eyes flicked toward the open office door, where Shard and Saffron’s shadows could be seen drifting across the floorboards beyond, and he passed a hand over the back of his neck in adjusting his collar.</p><p>“Gray’s been working on a project,” he replied, a bit sheepishly. “It’s tested well in standard situ, but he hasn’t had much opportunity to work out the dead zone kinks yet.”</p><p>“What sort of project?” Tristan prompted.</p><p>The young sergeant’s expression bloomed in excitement, his grey-green eyes brightening as he slipped into his tac vest.</p><p>“Eesa upgrade, if it works,” he effused, although his volume stayed restricted to the three of them. “He’s trying to make them communicate, like the Scrye. <em> Can you imagine, Sir?” </em></p><p>And <em> fuck yes he could</em>. Surveillance with the Hive had been a major game changer; but gaining the ability to coordinate on the fly, to relay real-time tactical decisions without needing to pull a trump and OpSec first?</p><p>“<em>Holyshit</em>,” Avery huffed as he caught on. “He can make that happen?”</p><p>Tristan recalled an incident he’d witnessed a few days earlier: The duo lounging at opposite sides of the Rec, each seemingly immersed in his own copy of some serial mystery or other (Gray tucked up into the corner of a sofa with an arm over the rest, fingers idly stroking the upholstery; Bailey slumped deep in an armchair with his legs stretched out, book propped on his stomach by the hand not holding his head up) when the Vert suddenly burst out laughing, and declared that there was <em> no way </em> the au pair was involved when she was <em> clearly </em> the missing heiress because Monroe was <em> notorious </em> for that sorta shit; and the Acolyte hadn’t even looked up from his reading, simply lifted one shoulder and turned the page.</p><p>“He already has, in a way,” Tristan posited. Bailey’s brows lifted and fell; his grin, if possible, broadened.</p><p>“He can reach me at five-hundred yards easy, under most circumstances,” the sergeant advised. Then, clearly eager for the challenge, he added, “I’m only about half that, but that’s because he’s had more practice.”</p><p>“Learning curve’s a bitch,” Avery nodded sagely.</p><p>“I’ll catch him by Tuesday,” Bailey asserted, holding out a hand to seal the bet.</p><p>“So long as it doesn’t distract from the mission,” Tristan cut over as the two shook. The sergeant looked stricken for a moment, and pulled back into attention.</p><p>“Nosir,” he said. “We’ll work calibrations during meals only, Sir.”</p><p>Tristan nodded his approval, then offered Bailey an encouraging smile. “Tuesday, huh?”</p><p>The younger Vert relaxed; replied, “If not, I’ll clean Vega’s tack for a week.”</p><p>“Hey now,” Avery chimed in. “Why does <em> he </em> get special terms?”</p><p>Bailey smirked at his XO, and Tristan let out a low chuckle.</p><p>“Because I can give him something you can’t,” he said, making a small rolling motion with one hand. “Out with it, son.”</p><p>“I’d like a day pass, Sir,” he replied. “For me and Gray, on the first Saturday of All Souls.”</p><p>For a brief moment, Tristan had to remind himself not to jump to conclusions. But then Bailey added,</p><p>“The Pikes are playing the Bruisers in the Premier League that weekend.”</p><p>“At Keller’s Field,” Gray added as he returned, tossing his partner a small, cylindrical shape that the other man caught with ease, and slipped into a slot alongside his ESA charger. “This optimistic duffer bought tickets at the start of the season, and has been waiting for the chance to ask for time off ever since.”</p><p>Bailey gave his friend a shove as he neared, countering with good humor, “You’re just bitter that my bracket was right, and now <em> you </em> have to buy the beer.”</p><p>Gray elbowed the other man in return, but was smiling at Tristan as he did so, ready to drop back into compliance at a look. The colonel allowed the moment to carry on a beat longer to say,</p><p>“Tell you what, fellas. We find what we’re looking for? I’ll make every effort to upgrade your seats myself.”</p><p>He held out a hand to Bailey first, who fell silent with the declaration, then clasped it solidly.</p><p>“Yessir,” he said. “Thank you, Sir.”</p><p>Tristan clapped the young man’s shoulder with his free hand, then thumped Gray’s bicep with the side of a loose fist when Bailey let the other one go.</p><hr/><p>With Avery officially up-to-speed, and Saffron prepared to contact them via Scrye every three hours as a timestamp from home, Shard pulled up a gate to the red-skyed apocalypse they’d left off at, and the four resumed their trek along the Black Road.</p><p>The movement from night to day to eternal gloaming was disorientating on its own, but the addition of Real / Shadow / Hyper Real to the mix actually made Tristan feel a little nauseous this time, and he paused for a long beat just inside the zone to get his bearings; couched it as a moment to allow Gray to fiddle with his project, and confirm with Bailey that he was being received. Shard watched the pair of them as they ran through this additional pre-Op check, then gestured for her counterpart’s right wrist. He held it out, turned up.</p><p>“You feel it now, don’t you,” she asked, her voice unexpectedly low as she recharged the unit strapped to his forearm. “The gap in the Pattern.”</p><p>Tristan tilted his head in semi-acquiescence, swallowing down the residual rise of bile in his throat before responding.</p><p>“I could feel it before,” he said. “And it’s more than that. It’s…”</p><p>He squinted into the distance, then pressed against his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his other hand. The ESA gave to the pressure like gelatin before letting the digits pass through, and he massaged the points lightly as he looked down the Black Road again from under the cup of his palm.</p><p>“It’s like there’s a film over the world,” he offered in the end. “An oil-slick stain. Makes things hard to focus on. My eyes want to slide away.”</p><p>Shard stilled a moment, then flicked him a quick glance before resuming her task.</p><p>“Unlike the pastels?” she asked, casually releasing his arm, and lifting her own.</p><p>Tristan confirmed the charges were at maximum out of habit more than caution, and shot her a querious look. “Say again?”</p><p>“Earlier you asked if the Shadow we were in looked pastel to me,” she elaborated. “‘A little blurry at the edges,’ were your exact words.”</p><p>The colonel took in his surroundings with a slow pan, and gnawed the inside of his lower lip in thought, eyes still narrowed against the slippery glare. He had. And <em> it </em> had. But then, Shadow <em> always </em> looked ‘off’ to him, even without the Image’s filter carving out a clear distinction between Reality and not. But,</p><p>“This is different,” he replied, with conviction. “Out There, beyond the GC, the world looks half-finished. To me, at least. This place, though?” He made a small gesture as he pulled his hand away from his head, and reached for his Sig-Sauer instead. “It’s as Real as Amber is, only .. <em> wrong</em>.”</p><p>Shard made a genuinely thoughtful sound, and glanced back toward the Graves as she finished her recharge. “Should we have them take point, then?”</p><p>Tristan followed her line, and shook his head. “Two-by-two, I think,” he determined. “Maintain visual, scan ahead with the Bugs.”</p><p>She deferred with a nod, and tapped out a rhythm on the Scrye she’d palmed from her belt pouch. A short distance away, the two men looked up, and Bailey signalled back their acknowledgment.</p><hr/><p>Except for the few times they stepped off to check their surroundings - one instance in particular where she contacted them twice in a standard two-minute survey period - Saffron’s notifications from The Foundry came with clockwork precision every three hours.</p><p>Tristan felt this backed his assertion that the Black Road was a Real place.</p><p>Whether that credence made him feel better or worse was another matter entirely.</p><hr/><p>Because time was such a mess, they hunkered down to eat when the majority of their body clocks told them to; made camp for the ‘night’ in the first reasonably protected place they could find, and set up a tight perimeter before Tristan took the first watch. Two hours later Shard relieved him, and he stretched out undercover to catch some sleep. It was fitful to start, then eerily deep, and he had to haul himself out of it when Bailey dropped a warmed breakfast wrap on his chest in the ‘morning’.</p><p>They ate in near-silence, each of them weary from poor rest following a long day on high alert. When they were finished, they cleared all evidence of their camp, and resumed their previous formation before continuing southeast. Saffron checked in three more times, but still they found nothing, and there was no end to the road in sight.</p><p>There <em> was </em> a low thrum building at the base of his awareness though — a persistent undercurrent that was a rare enough occurrence to be its own OpSec identifier. It had been growing steadily for nearly twenty minutes, as though by its very continuance it was gaining amplitude, and he huffed out a grudging chuckle, oddly impressed by her tenacity.</p><p>When they stopped for ‘lunch’, he let the call connect. Aunna took in his attire, his array of weapons, the gun in the hand on his lap, and fixed him with such a tight expression he knew anything short of some fraction of the truth at this point would only prompt her to do something rash.</p><p>Like come through.</p><p><em> Ok, </em> he projected her way as he chewed. <em> About the thing in Garnath- </em></p><p>“I knew it,” she bit out. “What the fuck is going on, Tristan?”</p><p><em> There’s an unsanctioned Path cutting through the GC, </em> he sent back. <em> It’s making life a little difficult for the locals, letting in creatures they can’t exactly deal with, and we’re not entirely sure who’s to blame. We’re looking into it, though. </em></p><p>“So .. bad timing?”</p><p>Aunna smirked in a way that said he may have successfully placated her. He gave a minute shrug that came across as shifting his seat.</p><p>
  <em> A bit, yeah. </em>
</p><p>“Call me back, then,” she relented.</p><p>The contact ended. He sighed, and took stock of his team as he tore off another bite of jerky. Caught Shard looking at him with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>“Who was that?” she asked.</p><p>“My sister,” he replied. “She doesn’t call often, but when she does, she’s persistent.” Cranking the lid of his canteen open, he asked in return, “How did you know?”</p><p>“You didn’t give anything away, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she assured with a rare, wry sneer.</p><p>“Not really.” His tone reflected his self assurance - he’d been taking calls on the sly for a very long time - but was also casual; conversational. “Just curious.”</p><p>The First Acolyte stilled for a moment, considering. Then she lifted one shoulder, and tilted her head almost dismissively.</p><p>“Shadows look raw to you.” It was a confirmation cloaked in a statement, if her sideways glance was any indication. When Tristan nodded, she continued, “For some of us, trump energy vibrates. Like standing inside an electrical current; a constant hum beneath the skin.”</p><p>Shard rolled her Scrye out of its pouch, pondered the multi-faceted orb a moment, then offered it over. Tristan pocketed the last of his jerky, brushed his fingers off on his sleeve, and accepted. The ruby red gem was cooler than he’d expected; almost icy.</p><p>“Calls make the vibrations spike,” she said, her tone instructive rather than condescending. “All we’re doing is manipulating the vibrations to send coded shorthand to each-other.”</p><p>Tristan actually pulled back a little at that, blinking widely in genuine surprise. It was a peek behind the curtain of the magic show; completely demystifying, but no less impressive for the engineering involved.</p><p>“The real trick to those is the rack,” she went on to explain. “Finding a substance capable of tapping into that frequency, yet requiring minimal maintenance or upkeep, was the hardest part. In the end, I had to alcheme my own material. And until recently, <em> that </em> was the most efficient substance I could achieve.”</p><p>Tristan saw her nod toward the Scrye in his periphery, and looked up; passed the orb back over when she held out her hand for it.</p><p>“‘Until recently’?” he repeated.</p><p>Shard offered another rare tilt of the lips, and shifted her attention to the pair seated a dozen paces away, Bailey maintaining situational awareness as Gray made subtle adjustments to his project.</p><p>“Your protégé has brought out the best in mine,” she stated. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”</p><p>Tristan huffed lowly, barely repressing a grin.</p><p>“Park goes both ways, Shard,” he said, taking one last swig of water before capping his canteen. “I’m looking forward to seeing what they achieve, given proper guidance. You game?”</p><p>The two shared a quick look, and she nodded. He returned it, and got to his feet.</p><p>And came face-to-face with a monster.</p><hr/><p>Time rolled back, in that way it does.</p><p>The thing was easily seven feet tall, and man-shaped for the most part: two arms, two legs, torso, abdomen, neck, head. But the knees bent backward, and its arms ended in spiked phalanges, and its face was mostly teeth set in a protruding jaw.</p><p>Its skin was also an opaque mirror-like substance that acted as camouflage, so really, when he stood, Tristan’s first indication of its presence was the funhouse-warped image of himself staring out from the thing’s hollow chest.</p><p>The next moment, he’d lifted the barrel of his Sig-Sauer to the underside of its jaw, and squeezed the trigger three times. Its head erupted, raining down a thick black substance that, thanks to the ESA, scalded the ground around his feet instead of his skin.</p><p>“Contact! Contact!” Bailey’s voice called from his far right.</p><p>Tristan shoved the collapsing corpse aside just as two more rushed him from further up the Black Road, screeching like a thousand nails across chalkboards, the sound piercing enough to ping an alert on his ESA as it burned through a charge to compensate. His firearm proved less effective at a distance, the shots ricocheting off the creatures rather than penetrating, and he was moving to swap pistol for short sword when his counterpart hurled something in their direction. She then clutched his shoulder, and spun them away into a crouch.</p><p>The concussion blew him forward a little, and the <em> PFOOM </em> would’ve been painful if not for the protective gear he wore. When he turned to regard the scene, all that remained was a scatter of scorch marks on the ground; a few dangling branches of fire above. He snapped a look to Shard, and caught sight of the Graves engaged in their own four-on-two encounter about twenty yards past her shoulder, apparently locked in a stalemate of blades and talons.</p><p>Then Gray went down; and Tristan was on his feet, sword out, rushing forward; and Bailey-</p><p>It was like someone flipped a switch.</p><p>One moment the young sergeant was holding his own defending his partner, whose hand-to-hand skills were adequate, but sub-par by comparison. The next he was slicing through their four assailants with a ruthless efficiency that left them strewn in black-blooded tatters at his feet, and Tristan was thinking <em> So </em> <span class="u"><em> that’s</em></span> <em>what that looks like. </em></p><p>He slowed his approach, sheathing his sword across his back as he did, awe and admiration tempered by a caution born of self-preservation. Bailey had frozen when the last one had fallen; stood statuesque but for the deeply rhythmic expansion / deflation of his chest, and the shuffle of his dilated grey-green eyes over the wreckage. Ichor dripped from the points of his blades, sizzling faintly when it hit the ground.</p><p>“Sergeant Graves,” Tristan hedged, slipping between the man’s line of sight and the carnage around him. “I know it’s a lot to process, but I need you to hear me. It’s over, and you’re ok. Everyone’s ok. You can come back, now.”</p><p>As Tristan worked on talking Bailey down, he was peripherally aware of Shard checking on Gray, who looked to have come to, and was shifting up onto his knees.</p><p>“Hey, B,” the Acolyte said, accepting his CO’s assistance to stand. “Wake up, man. We need to renegotiate the beer budget for League weekend.”</p><p>Tristan saw the other man blink several times in rapid succession, and dared to reach for his shoulder; clasp it lightly.</p><p>“You here?” he asked.</p><p>Although he still looked distracted, Bailey nodded. After another beat he reached over to nudge Gray’s chest with a loose fist, blade pointed down, and offered his commander a heavily forced smile. It pained Tristan a little to see. This was Bailey’s first contact with actual combat since becoming a Vert (likely ever, considering how little of it there was for the bulk of the Rangers), and it hadn’t been a kind one. The comedown would be-</p><p>Bailey doubled over, and vomited.</p><p>“I hate adrenaline backwash,” Tristan consoled, crouching down to offer a supporting hand as the man heaved for breath after. “The learning curve on that one’s steep, though.”</p><p>“Wonderful,” Bailey croaked in return.</p><p>Beside them, Gray let out a huff of relief. Tristan patted the sergeant’s chest, and started to rise, but something in the other Vert’s expression stalled him.</p><p>“What is it?” he asked.</p><p>“They all have the same mark,” Bailey replied, head canting, eyes narrowed. He pushed past Tristan, and took up one of the dismembered limbs; wiped blood from the inside of its forearm, and held it up. “Sir, I think they were scouts.”</p><hr/><p>A quick inspection of the other corpses confirmed that they all bore the sigil of his Uncle Bleys.</p><p>“Fuck,” Tristan said.</p><hr/><p>Protocol after losing consciousness included a visit to MedCorps, so it was decided that the Graves would return to Central, where the Acolyte could undergo a med check, and the Vert could make a preliminary report to Command.</p><p>What he relayed was this:</p><p>At approximately 18:40 CST, the JTF made contact with a scout party apparently under the command of Prince Bleys. Following engagement, Lt. Col. Rozenberg and FA Shard determined to backtrack the party, in order to ascertain the location and size of his forces.</p><p>It was their collective opinion at this time that Princess Fiona be officially taken into custody, as she had previously displayed insider knowledge regarding the condition of the Primal Pattern; and that effort be directed toward locating Prince Brand as the likely progenitor.</p><p>Further, it would be in their moral interest to make contact with any missing kin, as the damage was evidently caused using Blood of Amber.</p><p>(pS - Aunna was fine.)</p><hr/><p>The army, when they found it, was a respectable size. It was camped - and had been for some time, by the structure of things - what equated to a little under three day’s march from Garnath. Possibly two, if they quick-stepped it.</p><p>A majority of it was also not human. Instead there was a mixture of decidedly humanoid forms, and truly demonic-looking beasts that resembled a cross between gorilla, armadillo, and porcupine.</p><p>Scanning with the Bugs determined the forces were branded three ways: Prince Bleys, Prince Corwin, and a third sigil Tristan didn’t recognize, but made up a majority of the gathering (including all of the gora-dillo-pine things). Shard kept staring at that one with a perplexed furrow to her brow.</p><p>“Does it look familiar?” he asked her.</p><p>She shook her head, but in a way that gave him the impression she felt it <em> should</em>. </p><hr/><p>When they’d gathered as much intel as they felt they safely could, the pair left the Black Road and took a Gate back to Central, arriving to find the place scrambling on full alert. Their trump portal had barely shut before Shard was opening a new one to The Foundry.</p><p>“Wait,” Tristan said, seizing her upper arm as she spun to leave.</p><p>Her attention, when she gave it, was as fierce as it was pleading.</p><p>“My people won’t know who to report to, Tristan,” she replied. “The Headmistress is either arrested or fled. I need to find out which, and offer myself where I’m <em> needed</em>.”</p><p>Meaning <em> You don’t need me for this</em>. He understood, and let go.</p><p>“Good hunting, Shard,” he offered. </p><p>Her smile was fleeting. The Gate snapped shut. Tristan made his way to Command.</p><p>MedCorps had given Gray a clean bill of health, so he joined up with Bailey to meet Tristan in the general’s office, and they debriefed their encounter on the Black Road. When Julian asked what proof they had of Fiona’s involvement however, Tristan internally berated himself for allowing Shard to take it with her-</p><p>-but then Gray was pulling out his Scrye, and making a series of hand motions over its tablet form. Eventually he splayed his palm across the surface until the contact points flashed, then set it down in front of the general, and tapped two fingers to the corner.</p><p>The recording played: <em> -ou need to make a decision, brother… </em></p><p>Tristan had never seen his father’s face grow so dark.</p><hr/><p>The decision was made to let the enemy come to them. Because the dozen-or-so access points that had sprung up throughout the Golden Circle were still bottlenecks, and using the two days warning they had to fortify those areas felt like the stronger strategy.</p><p>“At least I got my honeymoon,” Leo said when he called to discuss tactics.</p><p>Tristan forced a chuckle as he offered to pull him through to The Foundry. “That’s the spirit, dear.”</p><hr/><p>What they <em> hadn’t </em> anticipated was that so many creatures would make suicide runs at the barrier, they’d bow it out enough each time that two more could slip through behind them.</p><p>The P90 handled <em> really </em> nicely, though.</p><hr/><p>When it was over, Tristan’s first thought was that he would <em> absolutely </em> switch-hit tonight, given the opportunity. <em> Fuck </em> the strain against his tac pants was almost <em> painful</em>.</p><p>Then he cycled a five-count breath, and began making rounds to check conditions.</p><hr/><p>Julian called a short time later to request his presence. After letting out a low whistle and motioning ‘Command’ to Avery, he clasped his father’s forearm. The world shifted around him as he was pulled away from Garnath, and into the War Room at Amber Castle.</p><p>“Your unit is well?” the general asked.</p><p>“Yessir,” Tristan replied. “Major Geller is making an assessment now. I should have numbers within the hour.”</p><p>Julian nodded, and motioned toward a chair more suited for casual discussion than official. The younger man raised an involuntary eyebrow at it, then moved to sit. When he had, his father further surprised him by turning toward a small liquor cabinet stationed in a nearby alcove, and pouring two tumblers from a familiar amber-coloured decanter.</p><p>“I know I do not say it often enough,” he said, “but I <em>am</em> proud of you, Tristan; of the leader of men you’ve become.”</p><p>Again, Tristan’s expression twisted in an unexpected way, taken by the sincerity of the statement. He looked up into his father’s face, and reached out for the glass when it was offered. Julian tapped base-to-side.</p><p>“Slàintate,” he offered.</p><p>“Ata’leatsa,” his son responded, by social reflex.</p><p>They sipped, and Julian settled into the next seat over. Beats passed in silence, then he said,</p><p>“The King is dead.”</p><hr/><p>The thirty-minute briefing boiled down to this:</p><p>When the incursion began in earnest, Eric attempted to lock down the access point at Garnath as he had once done the Golden Circle. The prevailing theory was that the Jewel of Judgment had banked on his lifeforce to do what was being requested, and leeched him dry in the process.</p><p>“Whether he knew it was happening or not is a matter of personal opinion,” Julian said. “But I believe he went willingly, in defense of Amber.”</p><p>After forty-odd years of benevolent rule, Tristan was inclined to agree.</p><p>“Long live the King,” he injected into the pause.</p><p>His father lifted his glass in acknowledgment. They drank, and it soothed him. One of Willow Trace’s best Reserve vintages, the cherrywood.</p><p>Fiona was gone; fled before her arrest. Sage Hall was being overseen by the Deputy Headmaster until arrangements could be made to appoint a successor. Shard - who had been offered the position outright - had just as outright refused, stating clearly her preference to remain with the Scarlet Acolytes and the JTF for the foreseeable future. While Tristan suspected the pact they’d made along the Black Road had played a factor in that decision, he still appreciated her show of faith in the unit as a whole.</p><p>Reports had been received that Bleys was seen falling from Kolvir, although his body had yet to be recovered.</p><p>Every attempt to reach Brand had been so far unsuccessful.</p><p>The jab about it being in their ‘moral interest’ aside, effort <em> had </em> been made to reach out to anyone unaccounted-for in recent years. In this manner Florimel was welcomed back from exile, as well as Deirdre; but all evidence pointed to Benedict no longer being alive. As he’d never known the man, Tristan was unsure how to feel about that. Still,</p><p>“He can’t have been who they used to damage the Pattern, though,” he asserted, slightly incredulous. While they may have never <em> met</em>, Uncle Benedict’s skill was still <em> legendary</em>.</p><p>“They imprisoned Oberon for forty years,” Julian countered, almost tartly. “I can put nothing beyond their treachery, at this point.”</p><p>“<em>Forty years?”</em></p><p>Tristan’s bafflement was evident. When he’d first considered the possibility a few nights ago (goddess, had it <em> really </em> only been so long?), the most he’d considered was a couple of years; before the appearance of the dead zone in Garnath at least, but…</p><p>“-been recovered, though,” his father was saying. “He’s taking the Jewel of Judgment to attempt to repair the Pattern. Corwin is going with him.”</p><p>“Wait, <em> Corwin?”</em> Again, his tone tilted with unguarded intonation, and Tristan frowned at the glass in his hand; set it aside as he leaned forward in his seat, “I told you part of that army bore his sigil, right? I didn't leave that out of my report, did I?”</p><p>“You reported it,” Julian nodded. “As it happens though, Corwin left a bulk of his army in Bleys’ keeping before coming to infiltrate the castle’s defenses on the eve of Eric’s coronation. It might’ve been a successful coup, only one of them didn’t hold up their end of the bargain.”</p><p>Tristan’s head dropped, and he massaged his brow with a weary sigh. The way his father’s siblings could use betrayal against one-another as entertainment was truly disappointing.</p><p>“I’ll never understand the fun in that,” he said. “Where does backstabbing get us but here?”</p><p>Julian let out a thoughtful huff at that. Tristan scrubbed across his crown, and sat up.</p><p>“So if Oberon’s taken the Jewel and his Heir Apparent to make things right with the Pattern,” he asked, “who’s in charge?”</p><p>“Central Command has assumed the bulk of matters, for the time being,” Julian provided. “Although this is not common knowledge. Given the state of things, we feel it best to hold off on a funeral to avoid further panic in the population. Officially, Eric is ‘convalescing from his exertions’.”</p><p>Tristan didn’t like it, but understood the reasoning. “So until the Pattern is repaired, I report to you, Caine, and Gérard?”</p><p>Julian finished his drink, and set the empty tumbler aside in lieu of a response. His eyes flicked briefly to the glass his son had set aside, one brow rising in an unspoken query. Tristan waved it off, and settled back into a near-slouch. His father reached over, picked it up, and finished it off.</p><p>“There’ll be interesting times ahead, Lukas Tristan,” he said, and the use of his full name sparked brightly. “We’ll be marching the Black Road by week’s end, and while I know <em> you’re </em> equal to the task, I need to ask about your sister’s preparedness.”</p><p>Tristan let out a small laugh. “Why? She’s left the service, remember?”</p><p>“She’ll come back for this,” Julian stated, with flat conviction.</p><p>He went on to explain that the third sigil was that of House Sawall - easily one of the most influential in the Courts of Chaos - which Bleys, Brand, and Fiona had apparently formed an alliance with in an attempt to seize control of Amber; that the Black Road was a Path running directly to their doorstep, and defiling the Pattern had prompted its manifestation on this side of the Central Plane. While it stood to reason that repairing the damage <em> should </em> close it off again, until that time the gateway remained open, and the best defense now pointed to a decisive offense.</p><p>To make that happen, they’d need all hands.</p><p>Which meant his days of maintaining his sister’s peace, and maybe an idealized slice of his own by proxy, were over.</p><p>“I’ll…” Tristan swallowed, tasting the sourness of anxiety as he worked his mouth out of its suddenly dry state. “Let me call her, dad.”</p><p>A small pause to pointedly glance at the dark walnut case on his son’s hip, then Julian nodded. Stood. Departed the War Room.</p><hr/><p>He knew she’d be incensed. Maybe spout off some colourful invectives in a few different languages, as she was wont to do.</p><p>He hadn’t expected the violence, though.</p><p>When her hands gripped the straps of his tac vest and hauled him around, Tristan barely registered the rainbow pulsars across his vision before his back was slamming against something painfully solid.</p><p>His startled “Shit!” was a punched-out exclamation over the whinny of horses from below.</p><p>Her enraged “Spill!” flipped a trigger in his head that’d barely been disengaged.</p><p>He growled down the eight inch height difference between them, fingers wrapping around her wrists as he hooked a leg to sweep her to the ground. She hopped over, but it sacrificed her position enough that he was able to pry her grip loose, and spin her back to his front, pinning her arms across her chest with his. She feinted crushing his instep, only to slam her head into his sternum instead. He heaved, winded, and released her; staggered out from between her and the crossbeam she’d had him hard up against, and threw out a staying gesture.</p><p>“What the .. fuck, sis,” he gasped, tugging a few straps loose to get more air into his lungs.</p><p>“Why hasn’t anyone contacted me?” She’d dropped to her knees when he’d let go, and was glaring up from a perch on her haunches, hand massaging her crown. “I’ve been out here ‘training’, and haven’t heard fuckall!”</p><p>“Because <em> you left the service</em>,” he bit back. “Re<em>member?”</em></p><p>“Fuck you.” She wiped blood from her mouth with the back of a loose fist, looking wounded and deeply bitter about it. “You know what I mean.”</p><p>Given the past handful of days, her ungrateful retort was the proverbial straw. Because she had <em> no idea </em> what he’d been through; how hard he’d worked to shelter her from this mess.</p><p>Tristan finally snapped.</p><p>“Hey!” he roared, bristling to his full height and jabbing a finger at her. “You made it pretty clear to everyone that you were <em> done </em>after Ghenesh-”</p><p>For all their years of spit and vinegar, for shit-slinging that occasionally led to fists flying, he’d never <em> feared </em> his sister. But as Aunna rose from her crouch like wrath incarnate, there was something in the stance that a primal part of him quailed from.</p><p>“Don't,” she demanded with a dull fury. “Just .. Don't.”</p><p>And in that moment, he knew their father was right. She’d fight, when the time came. She’d leave this place without a second glance, if that’s what it took to fill her role in this conflict.</p><p>Goddess have mercy on the opposition.</p><p>Tristan broke a little under the realization, shoulders sagging from the weight of it. When he stooped to pick her trump up from the floor, he tried not to buckle under the layers of exhaustion: physical, mental, and emotional.</p><p>“Listen,” he said, tone soft now that the rile had burned out. “Next time you want me to drop by for a visit, just ask. Don't go jerking me around, alright?”</p><p>He slipped her card into the end of his case as he said it, and pulled a different one from the side. She briefly met his gaze, and returned with tart dismissal,</p><p>“Stop holding out on me, and get some fucking sleep.”</p><hr/><p>He’d not been thinking of a location when he’d pulled the trump. Just wanted to be someplace else for a bit, to clear his head.</p><p>Where he found himself was at Malwain OFC, sometime shortly after sunset. A cool summer breeze buffeted his skin, and he stood in it for a long minute - eyes closed, breathing deep - but as the confluence of the past several days caught up with him, he sat down right there on the grass of the quad, then lay back and stared at the darkening sky.</p><hr/><p>When Leo called some time later, he didn’t bother to sit up.</p><p>“Is it true?” his friend asked.</p><p>“Which part?” Tristan countered, disregarding the illusion.</p><p>“Two-by-two, hoorah hoorah.”</p><p>A mirthless laugh was followed by, “Think Margie would mind looking after Cooper while we’re away?”</p><p>Leo was contemplatively quiet for a long minute. Then, “Where are you, T?”</p><p>“Malwain.” Tristan curled a hand into his hair and gave it a tug at the root, closing his eyes against the sharp sting. “Had a rough call to make. Needed a minute after.”</p><p>This time, the other man’s silence was weighty.</p><p>He finally broke it with, “They’re recalling her, aren’t they.”</p><p>Hearing Leo say it drove the fact home. Tristan tugged his scalp again, acutely distraught, and through the wince he breathed,</p><p>“…fuck."</p><p>Without hesitation, Leo held out a hand, and silently offered to join him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. [epilogue]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“As if bringing her in wasn’t enough, they’re sending her to the Front as Captain of the Ninth Cav.” Tristan regarded Leo with an expression of unguarded dismay, adding, “Why the fuck would they do that? Wasn’t one trauma with that unit enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His oldest friend heaved a sigh. “I stopped trying to understand the machinations of that side of your family a long time ago, Tristan,” he admitted. “And I agree. It’s cruel to put her in that position again. But…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tristan lifted his head from where he’d clutched it between his hands, elbows braced on his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…But?” he prompted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They need a new Specialist,” Leo stated plainly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a long moment for Tristan to cotton. When he did, Leo tacked on before he could reply;</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Appoint Eoin as Vert Field Command, and let me volunteer to be her Second.” Then, gently, “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tristan sucked in a breath against the well of gratitude, and nodded.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The afternoon before deployment, she called: old olive rucksack hung from one shoulder, and Sagr at the end of a bosal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of the joy was gone from her; years rolled back in a matter of days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Tristan held out a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Central Command wants to see you,” he said. “And I’m sorry sis, but they’re going to say something you won’t want to hear.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Although this was the last piece written, and originally slated as the second part of the And We Are Merely Players series, it occurred to me upon reviewing the completed Book One arc that it's actually a better flow into Aunna's tale when read first. So it goes. lol</p><p>I can honestly say that while I think the entire 'Just Another Future Song' / 'Liberty She Pirouette' arc fleshed out beautifully, and 'The Distance to Here' contains some of my strongest writing, it's 'A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall' that feels like my biggest accomplishment this past year.</p><p>Of them all, it was the one that didn't exist when I started writing again in December 2019. And for the longest time it was barely more than a vague concept floating around as I worked on the other two; a scatter of notes in a file marked 'gibberish' that I didn't want to lose, but couldn't find a place for in the working Aunna / Martin | Martin &amp; Tristan narratives. But as I completed the first draft of TDtH, I began to realize that without Tristan's side of the events leading up to it, the impact of his part in the grander story felt .. lacking. Incomplete.</p><p>The fact terrified me, I won't lie. Tristan was in Amber for the events leading up to Patternfall, and therefore more tied to the world presented in the Zelazny series than the other two characters I'd been fucking around with since 1993. He also wasn't as three-dimensional as they were, being a later creation and only then as a Pet!NPC for a tanked RPG. Figuring out who Tristan was as a person was daunting enough; discovering who he was was as a leader of men was infinitely harder.</p><p>Also, I wasn't interested in simply regurgitating Corwin's tale from an ancillary POV, so I waffled quite a bit on what to include from the source material vs what to repurpose, and what to straight out omit. (Pro Tip: I consumed a lot of AU!Steve/Bucky fic when my fears over backlash from purists started to get the better of me, and tagging it as 'Canon Parallel w/ Copious Artistic License' helped me remember that, as fanfic, it was OK to make adjustments as I saw fit.)</p><p>Not only am I incredibly proud of the end result, I'm thankful for it. In chronicling Tristan's experience, I not only found a wonderful character that I look forward to writing more of, I also uncovered a lot of concepts that had evaded me in regard to the story I've been working toward (ie: Book Two). It's still a bit overwhelming when I consider the scope of what's to come, but I'm more excited to engage it than #OverwhelmedAF.</p><p>~ j</p><p> </p><p>Kudos are love :) Comments are moderated (for spam, not content), but always welcome. :)</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27756145">Vignette: When Leo Met Margie</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/jld_az/pseuds/jld_az">jld_az</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
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